This is my axe. There are many like it, but this one is mine.
My axe is my best friend, it is my life, and I must master it as I must master my life.
My axe, without me, is useless. Without my axe I am useless. I must swing my axe true. My axe must swing more sweetly than my cousins' so that they too are lifted higher.
My axe and I know that what counts is the risk of each throw, the sound of every chop, and the shavings made. Most of all we know that form is created and as such is a way of life. We create and so are created.
My axe is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus I will love it as a cousin, I will learn its strengths and weaknesses. I will know its warm haft and cold steel, and the shape of its bevels. I will keep my axe sharp and ready, as I am sharp and ready. We will become part of each other.
I swear this creed before the Heavens and the Earth, which gave rise to the trees and ore. As I stand with my axe I am not alone in the forest, I stand with my cousins, we are the saviours of my life. So be it, until we realise there is no enemy, and restore the greatest wood culture to Glory.