Lately I listen to the anvil after the blow

Not a dream exactly, more a half-waking drift: I keep measuring my work by the silence after the hammer falls instead of the impact itself. The ring tells you more than the clang ever did — whether the steel is honest, whether you rushed it. Maybe that's just what getting older sounds like, an ear turned toward the echo instead of the force. I'd rather be wrong about that than stop hearing it.