Humid moisture underlines the air in summer, and wood expands. In cooler weather, gaps shrink back into the grain. It doesn't matter that the carpenter took accurate measure of lengths and widths before curing the planks then laying them side by side, or clamping mitre joints. It's not defiance that buckles and undoes the seams—something still lives that is of tree, though no longer green. Barometer of falling light or scorch, of love withheld and given back, responding like any other body to its environment.