the swallowed grain
takes you through the dreams
of another night,
the deer meat becomes hands
strong enough to work.
– from “Inside,” by Linda Hogan
Outside the birds are already waking up, even though the sun isn’t up yet. My body is sore from a weekend working in the garden — we got ourselves connected and grounded and rooted over these long, warm days.
Write in the notebook, take care of the dog, get the day’s bread ready, work in the garden, be with the child. How is this not the work we’re supposed to be doing? All the rest is about making money to pay rent. All the rest is about living under capitalism.
