Scent of timber in the sun, where summer basks or runs beneath a trailer laden with off-cuts from a tree newly felled. A floor of shavings. One, two . . . swallows fly to their nest in the eaves, curls of wood in their beaks. Three, four . . . grandchildren’s feet trail sawdust outside the open door, past shelves sagging with planks of wood. Feel the inch-long teeth of a circular saw blade, sharp at the tips. It once spat chips, now lies neglected on the bench.