This morning was one of those days when I twice thought, truly, why am I even here. This is all pointless.
The build up of stuff to do, the money worries, the feeling of getting nowhere with anything? Can coalesce into a great dark cloud and leave you almost paralysed.
The antidote, as ever, was a full on day in the garden. I have dug and weeded and raked and planted and scythed - oh, my soul! How I love that scythe. Its shushing rhythm, the warm, wooden grip of the snath, the fact that it's even called a snath. Even the word makes you feel better. Pausing to sharpen the blade,thinking ceaselessly about how to get the angle just so.
After pauses to take H to work and help Neil move some sheep, I went back outside (I'd planned on coming in for housework, but the sun was shining and the breeze was calling my name) so I cleared plastic sheet mulch and shifted junk and optimistically planted one last row of main crop potatoes that should have been in a while ago.
And oh, my heart! How I love to work outdoors. It heals my soul, and gives me hope and is the very stuff of my dreams.
The dawn is going to have to break. Somehow, this is going to have to be my whole life.Or at least, its core and centre.
|If you want to buy a scythe too, click here.|