Four Hours Later.
Lower back resisting every move,
Arms akimbo,
Legs unsteady.
The olives helped.
I moved one ton of rock today. By myself.
Tomorrow we chop wood.
We'll load the truck bed that the ton of rocks I hauled yesterday from the now closed rock mine rested in while I slept the sleep of one who is up till 3:am, working the late shift, sleeping deep into the world's morning. Today, in four hours I unloaded it all. Forty three years old. No shrinking violet when it comes to back breaking labor. Not I.
Tomorrow we head for our land. The truck bed will return loaded with wood we have chopped together.
We will eat spaghetti thanks to the sauce you made today while I moved rock and pulled weeds. While you cooked you harvested tomatoes and pumpkins and laid down tarp on the remaining dozens of green tomatoes so tonight's predicted freeze will not turn them to mush before I have a chance to roast them. For The Sauce. Red chili sauce. Red gold. My newest culinary achievement... Those green tomatoes will ripen too thanks to our efforts.
A ton of rock to fill in and complete my Eye of The Universal in my garden's zeroscape.
Nine loads of sand and road bed moved to fill in low spots under the clothes-line, in our drive and where I attempt to recreate the feeling of a dry stream bed. Countless weeds and grass no longer growing where rocks lay. They have been moved to the two new compost heaps: Cosmic Compost. Heaps!
You have fed me your divine gourmet grilled cheese sandwiches with steamed broccoli and baked yams. The martini was a fine reward.
Now I stretch in candle light.
Our yard is nearly ready for it's winter rest.
One ton of rock later I am headed for mine.
Blessed Be!
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