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.
The Modern Revolution 