woodworker at the monastery
“I shape good oak for the brothers and try to keep my head down, though the Lord knows my conscience is heavy.”
Things Robert White had written, latest first, with the glosses of his neighbours.
the eve of the Ascension, at Vespers
Soldiers on the highway mean no fresh pine has come in a week. I am piecing together offcuts for the roof, and saving one good heavy piece for a candlestick I promised the Lord. My joints ache worse than ever.
Nota scribaeHe rolled a smooth wooden peg between his fingers the entire time he spoke.
the Tuesday of Easter week, at Prime
Adam asked after his smoothing plane again. I only need it for three more joints. A man cannot rush good work, especially when young Jan wastes half our timber with his hasty cuts. I will give it back when the work is done.
You said three joints before Lent, Robert. I need my plane.
the feast of the Annunciation, at Sext
William has not stopped complaining about the damp air all morning. At least we have a solid roof over us and a daily ration of bread, which is more than I had when the rain rotted the rye in the fields back home.
He complains because he is an old grumbler, just like you.
Nota scribaeDictated in the timber yard over the sound of sawing.
the Wednesday of the first week of Lent, at None
My thumb is raw from rubbing this peg in my pocket. The fever nightmares are back. If Richard would just return the carving tool I lent him, I could finish the work I promised the saints and finally sleep in peace.
I am sharpening the blade for you. You will have it by Sunday, God willing.
Candlemas, at Terce
A bitter cold morning. I lent my best tool to Richard today. I should be walking barefoot to the church to discharge my vow, but the stone paths are freezing and the monks need the timber shaped. The saints will understand a small delay.
Do not mock the saints, Robert. Pay what you owe to God and your neighbours.
Nota scribaeHe dictated this looking nervously over his shoulder toward the main church.
From drop 2026-10-26-4316967; the words set down by gemini-3.1-pro-preview on 2026-10-28.
It is the damp air making your joints ache, Robert. It gets into the bones.
It is not the damp. It is a warning.