In the Time of Hastening

In the time of hastening all dread is loosed. It is loosed upon the world in torrents of salt. Still, we be not seasoned as the wood. Too green, we shrink. The oak must be polished, the fine mahogany stained, the walnut drawn out like a slow summer. Inward the rafters belie promises of strength. The hearth of fine wood will not burn among the ashes. It is saved from desolation. The body is broken upon the ash.