The Passage of Time

At different scales.
Like the hours spent today, and this week, and last week, polishing the stripped pine doors throughout the house.
Which lead me to ponder, like you do as you put the wax on and then buff it off again, how old the door is. Is it as old as the house? More than 120 years?
And then how old was the timber they used the make the door. The grain reminds me of those tree stumps in museums which count the rings back in time and mark on events in world history, from the outer edge to the centre of the trunk.