Three Green Notebooks Left in a Cedar Chest on Elm Street

Elm Street, the cold morning air biting at my cheeks.

The door to Arthur’s workshop was unlocked, and the dry, sweet scent of curly maple shavings greeted me before I even stepped over the threshold. Arthur was sitting on his high stool by the window, a half-carved cherry bowl held between his knees and a curved gouge in his right hand.