I am standing in front of a steaming pile.
It’s taller than I am, and so I get to work. I am raking and shoveling the mulch delivered to Grace Farms with the discipline of an army ant.
It’s about 6:30 AM – my morning farm shift –
As I shovel deeper into the pile of chipped trees, the heat is obvious.
The tree was upright, then it wasn’t.
The tree was alive, then it wasn’t.
And again – it is one thing becoming another.
The morning shifts are short, the responsibilities of day have no pause button for my messy farm project.
Grace in the Morning Rain
On Kale and Daughters
My Last Card
Rockin' The House
The Unlikely Is Not The Imposible
Leave A Message
The Gospel of Doubt
In The Weeds
Clever or Not You're Ready