Sharpening Stone

An unpolished gray whetstone sat tilted off the edge of an old pine timber. I paused before it, tilting my head as a shaft of early afternoon light fell across the dry grit. Reaching out with a heavy gloved hand, I pushed the rough stone flat against the grain of the wood. It scraped faintly into the sawdust before settling flush into a shallow recess. I held my palm flat against the cold surface, feeling its steady, unmoving weight.