Slow Farmer Playing

I just can't run in the garden. Nothing to do with the gumboots. It just feels wrong. I walk, even amble, and still get there and get lots done, trugs of weeds each day, but don't blow the grass over with my to's and fro's. Slowly and steadily I grow into awareness and fullness with my crops.

I do still make lists sometimes, but then forget to look at 'em as the day flows along. Long gently-concentrated times on one task are accented by a drift to another thing that comes into awareness - filling in that hole from where we removed the lemon balm last week, a wheelbarrow that needs emptying, finally putting in a nail to hang that hoe. The same circularity that would make me dreadfully inefficient in my old office here sounds its own rhythm, like a retriever making wider and wider circles to find the lost ball. Nothing is rushed and little is programmed, but much is accomplished.