Old wood tells us stories. In the ever-changing natural world, living trees are silent observers, responding to sun, wind, wild creatures, moisture from beneath the soil, and replenishing rain. Quietly, they shape themselves. I think of them biding their time, storing up tales of what happens in their surroundings. One day, when they succumb to the natural forces around them, trees fall to the ground and become a new feature in the landscape. Their trunks, limbs and roots are ready to share their years of rich experience. The wood sculptor becomes their confidant, their biographer, or, perhaps their ghost writer.