Wood Scent /

Even though many years have passed, some memories are never forgotten. In Bartın, where I spent my childhood, there were wooden planks tied together with thick ropes in a corner on a large plot of land in front of our house. Uncle Metin, who owned a carpentry shop, lived near our house. His shop was located on the ground floor of a two-story building at the end of our garden. Every morning, on my way to school, I could smell the scent of freshly cut wood. Now, that two-story building stands abandoned. The building, resembling a mixture of concrete plaster and wooden planks, defies time, refusing to collapse.