The joy of unchecked, innocent violence, as the hand lashes out.
The joy of an insensitive tool in one's hand, between soft flesh and unyielding steel. One feels the jolt, but not the pain.
The joy of the metal ringing out with every strike - the joy of one's own effect.
The joy of one's own rhythm, unenforced, spontaneous.
And the joy of it all outside; of breeze, sunlight, soft grass and room to roam; of noise uncensured.