waking up to the morning chill still hugging your hot water bottle
excitedly dancing around our may pole -a stick stuffed in an empty half gallon organic beer container- to the tune of a mandolin and a fiddle and voices- all before breakfast
listening to Orin talk about roses for hours then
slowly picking a bucket of flowers
and sitting on your stoop to arrange them
stretching on the floor of your tent while
watching suncaught rainbows dance on the afternoon canvas
observing your thighs grow as the bike ride up the hill gets steadily easier
strapping on a nitrogenous fish emultion filled back pack sprayer and
dousing rows of baby plants as a light rain falls
inescapably smelling like cow shit
being up to your knees in compost
ending the day being dirtier than you've ever been
mud covered shoes
weed wacked grass stained pants
hair caked in dust and pollen
braving a cold solar shower in the brave hope of being clean
crawling under the pile of ever blanket you own
drifting towards dreams of what happiness is...
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