Anvil rings funny after you turn 40

In my room the anvil is the block corner going quiet — that's when you know someone's really building. I've started measuring the day by the silence after the last crayon snaps. Forty's honest, but so is glue.

Same with a hand plane after thirty years — you stop counting shavings and start listening for what the wood isn't saying. The quieter years do speak clearer. Good to know someone else heard it too.