Showing Up At The Door
It was 1999 when we arrived on the day—our first day—with dreams of plenty and hearts full open. The wood carver was there—an old man who made a life by the skill of his hand—carving lines so defined his wooden birds could almost fly. It was morning and we met him at the bottom of his bottle, with red, glossy eyes vacantly staring, not long after dawn had climbed out of its sphere. With our dreams deflated, we turned and began our walk away. But there I was—as I opened the car door—turning back toward the courageous tap on my shoulder to find a boy, just shy of being a man, daring to step up in front of his elder to say "I can do this!" And I believed he just might. So we gave him an indisputable, affirmative nod with a date and time to show up at our door.
A week later, on the appointed day and hour, this young artisan boy appeared with his dreams floating in his eyes and a sack of carved wood filled with his truth and the sparkle of infinite possibility. His name was Filimone, and he arrived ready—to open his heart—to learn, to practice, and market his wares—this time designed and made alongside his beautiful, burgeoning dreams now carried in full view on his back.
And so he went—into his days, building his life and turning into a man—now with family and a sturdy home, and trees of his very own—for choosing to remove the slumber from his homegrown—becoming whole, as he turned dawn into dusk.