Every weekend, our neighborhood organizes a woodball tournament on the park lawn.

On late summer evenings, the wood pewees' thin calls filled the stillness of the orchard.

Woodard enjoyed the concert more than anyone expected.

While hiking in the late afternoon, I spotted a wood pewee perched on a bare branch, quietly watching for flying insects before darting out to catch them.

The old gazebo had wood rails that creaked under the weight of leaning visitors.

We watched a wood rail slip silently along the muddy edge of the mangrove.

The child stacked the wood blocks carefully to build a tiny castle.

At the folk festival, the woodblockist kept perfect time while the rest of the band improvised.

The drummer tapped the wood-block to add a sharp, hollow tone to the rhythm.

She polished the antique wood-blocks until their grain shone in the afternoon light.