There’s something about hollow wood echoing in resonance from the heart of the forest, the short staccato bursts of the tiny head and the curved beak of a Woodpecker hammering in search of food – a sound that seems ancient, primal and otherworldly, even if the wood is a telephone pole outside my window and the woodpecker is one of our neighborhood Flickers. A very busy day left almost no time at all for thoughts of leisure or life, other than to finally say goodbye to heavy broken items that had been weighing us down for many years.