The Breath of Wood Floors

At dawn, bare feet touch the wood floor—coolness rises, then fades into warmth. Wood breathes: shrinking in winter’s dryness, gaps widening; swelling in summer’s humidity, seams tightening. This natural rhythm is wood’s dialogue with seasons.

Some call it delicate—fearing water, dreading scratches. Yet this "delicacy" teaches reverence. A spilled teacup leaves faint stains like memory patches; children’s sprinting scuffs, pets’ claw marks—all etch life’s chronicles. Years later, these "flaws" become home’s growth rings.

Wood floors age but never decay. Polished and waxed, they glow anew, now rich with stories. Underfoot, they whisper: Life should be just like this—warm, textured, and beautifully imperfect.