Wood Shop

No, not high school Wood Shop, but close.

Dad was off in Korea for my third summer. Mom was busy with my sisters. The call of the open road (alley, actually) came to me, and I answered it as an intrepid 3 year-old explorer.

I recall it as a warm, comfortable day. The neighborhood seemed dusty and brown, whereas the sky was uniformly blue. The alley ran both ways, but some of it seemed to drift up a slight slope that I chose to climb.

It was probably a weekend day. I am fairly sure of this because of my visit to one of the garages along that alley. There, I investigated a strange, loud noise. It was a power saw with a ringing circular blade that a man, a father, was using on his wood working project.

Did he notice me standing in the doorway? We did not interact, I stood there and watched before the sense of I should go home took me away.

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