I hauled about a ton of weeds from the garden to the compost pile today. Literally, it was probably 1,000 pounds. It took more around twenty trips back and forth, the large wheelbarrow heaped high with weeds (so high each time that I couldn’t really see over the top and had to throw all of my weight into pushing it forwards). After two hours, the skin on my face, neck, and arms was a lovely shade of mocha; I could feel the grit in my teeth; my shoes, socks, and ankles were caked with dirt; and, when I slapped my gloves against my thigh, a huge, billowing cloud of dust arose from my jeans—my once blue jeans that are now a rather brown hue. After that, I spent the next few hours packing peaches before going to the market in Brooklin this afternoon.
I’m at that point in my life in which I’m striving to ascertain the where and the what and the why and the how of my existence. And, heavens, is it a tumultuous place to be—though I should be comfortable with it by now, since I’ve been in this same spot for years now. I think my problem is that I want to do…well, everything. I want to live life simply, but to the fullest. Be a free spirit, but have responsibilities. Not have more than I need, but not be forced to resort to begging on the streets. Travel the world over, but have a home…
No comments:
Post a Comment