Cask No. 001

Twenty-seven years. One cask.

Clear as water. Sharp as a blade.

It begins here. Then it waits.

Flame gives the wood its voice.

Char level three. Then the fire goes out.

Nothing happens here. That is the work.

Twenty-seven winters in the dark.

The seasons do the turning.

Summer draws it into the wood. Winter gives it back.

Two percent a year, gone to the air.

The angels take their share.

Twenty-seven years, in the light at last.

This is what the waiting was for.