Carpentry or Masonry

Woodwork is a place where people disappear.
They can be gone for a very long time; curled up like hibernating rats.
In the darkness they bide their time and keep a watchful eye
A beady, disgusting little gaze on the outside world.

Then when the conditions present themselves they crawl out.
Slimy and toxic they ooze from every nook and cranny in the every day oak.
Was it the change in temperature?
Was it the departure of a predator?
Was it just an inborn body clock or similarly horrific system that told them:
Now it is time to return.

I'm more for stone.
Cold throughout and hardened.
Weather beaten.
I'm sure I remain porous because a little amount of precious water passes through my veins.

I can take the weight you put on my shoulders.
I can take the weight you put in my head.

In the right hands I can be apart of something special, something big, something grand.
In the wrong hands I can bludgeon everything into a pulp, unrecognisable and dead.

I can be unmoving and unmoved; solid and unshakable.  I can defeat time, sink ships and stub your toe.
I can be rolled, dropped and thrown; create ripples across a great lake that will carry beyond your sight.

...but I can be melted down and malleable.  It takes immense heat.

Just as some creatures come oozing out of the woodwork, some fall back into it.  One cannot do without the other.  One vacates and the other inhabits.  I'm not sure which I despise the most; those that retreat into the woodwork or those that come out of it.  I'll give them one thing though; their timing is impeccable.

So I shall retreat beneath my rock and wait for the season to change. 
The wind blows in an ominous direction these days. 
The moon is in a dangerous phase.

I'll wait for it to pass
and the creatures of wood will cycle their retreat.
But time is something only I can defeat.