across the shop the blueprint wall with the birdhouse schematic chalked large across it, little flame studies in the margins, a high shelf of fireproof gloves and tongs.

on the bench the birdhouse on the workbench, built of kiln brick with a brass perch and a chimney no bigger than a thimble, a soft ember glow breathing in its round door.

in your hand one gold feather on the bench beside a scorch mark shaped like a handprint, and a pair of tongs set down still warm.

across the shop pegboard hung with six shuttered clock faces waiting their turn, cogs sorted on nails by size, a chalk wheel of the week with one spoke gilded.

on the bench the seventh face wide awake on the bench, brass hands folded at an easy hour, its bell wearing a small quilted cozy so the weekdays stay quiet.

in your hand a wind up key resting on a square of velvet, and one cog set apart from the others, polished brighter than the rest.

across the shop the hull's ribs drawn in chalk on the blueprint wall, oars hanging in pairs, a coil of rope on a brass hook.

on the bench the rowboat up on sawhorses mid build, a small stone hearth set amidships with its chimney rising through the center bench, the first test fire lit and warming the planks.

in your hand a mug resting on the transom and two marshmallows on a whittled stick, waiting for the maiden voyage.

across the shop the tall shop window at dusk with moths gathering on the other side of the glass, drawn in from the whole yard.

on the bench a knee high lighthouse on the bench, its brass lamp room glowing honey warm, the little beam swinging slow across the shop and catching sawdust like snow.

in your hand one moth resting on the lamp room rail as if it has come home, wings gone gold in the light.

across the shop chalk arcs of balloon strings drawn across the blueprint wall, every arc ending at a tiny anchor sketch, a stepladder leaning into the rafters.

on the bench the anchor on its cushion, full anchor shape but polished brass and light as a breath, floating a finger's width up while a small fleet of round balloons tugs at it politely.

in your hand the ring where ten balloon strings gather, tied in a bow because a knot felt too permanent.

across the shop the shop's own pegboard wall, and hanging on it a window frame that shows the same wall a day earlier, messier and full of afternoon light.

on the bench the window on the bench taking its last coat of glazing, yesterday's warm light spilling out of the frame into today's evening shop.

in your hand the sill inside the frame still holding yesterday's sawdust, and a screwdriver lying half in today and half in the glow.

across the shop a star chart pinned wide across the blueprint wall with the phases drawn in chalk, a block and tackle hanging ready from the rafters.

on the bench a crate of wood shavings on the bench cradling a brass crescent the size of a sled, polished to a soft shine, felt straps keeping it from bruising.

in your hand a lens, a polishing cloth, and one small tin of pale silver paint with the lid off, freshly stirred.

across the shop the shop window open to a fence line where a row of sparrows has gathered, heads tilted, listening in.

on the bench the kettle on a small test burner at the end of the bench, steam curling from a spout shaped like an open beak, the steam rising in loops and curls like a song.

in your hand tuning forks laid out smallest to largest on a cloth, and one bold sparrow on the bench itself, waiting by the handle.

across the shop the shop rafters overhead with a dotted chalk test path winding across the ceiling planks, threading between the hanging lamps.

on the bench the boots standing upside down on the ceiling mid test, laces hanging straight down, soles glowing a faint blueprint blue where they hold on.

in your hand the bench below with a boot jack, a coil of spare laces, and a safety net folded neat and unused, one corner hanging off the bench.

across the shop the shop's cupola open to an evening sky going peach at the edge, far chimney smoke from the town all leaning one way.

on the bench the weathervane on its test stand, a brass swallow where the rooster would be, holding its point steady against the fan's wind toward the warm side of the sky.

in your hand a compass on the bench beneath it with the needle and the swallow agreeing for once, and a thumbprint polished into the brass tail.