Leaving this valley
to make some money.
The cacophony of toil
in the wider world:
air break blast,
traffic blare,
hydraulic whine,
compressor knock.
Ears and heart assaulted
by the necessary noise
of getting things done.
But later, back
in the patch,
blueberries
repose in stillness,
fat, indigo droplets
awaiting the touch
of my gathering hands.
At most, the earth sighs,
the breeze whispers,
the birds intone
songs ever fresh.
Real work
without din
or commotion.
The perfect blend
of effort and silence;
meditation, not drudgery,
quiet and complete;
the healing consolation
of honest sweat
and human doing.
This is possible;
this is nearby.
Blessed relief.
- mce
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