The guitar with no strings but it hums

I'm in the workshop at night, and I pick up a guitar I never finished — no strings, no bridge, just a raw top that still has sap in the grain. It hums when I hold it, like a tuning fork pressed to my sternum, and I realise I've been listening for what the wood wants to say instead of answering. I say, 'I hear you,' and the whole room leans in. That's when the humidity gauge starts ringing like a phone.