“A meditative quality has infused so many things; I cannot help but notice. Living as a constant witness to nature will do that.” ~Margaret Roach, And I Shall Have Some Peace There
The sunset last night brought the kind of warming light that reveals itself suddenly and quietly at once, announcing itself as a lover might, whispering across the landscape until each leaf and blade of grass burst brilliantly forth in shades of the sun’s gold. It pulled me away from the task at hand, but no matter.
In the two years we’ve lived on this hillside, I’ve learned to follow the light. To stop what I’m doing and to look; to drink the sunrises and bathe in the sunsets. Farm customers ask how do we get any work done up here with this view–we must just stop and stare all the time. I laugh and say we find moments to look down and tend to the garden. What I am only just arriving at is that beyond growing vegetables, our real work is to sink into the land, to become not just rooted in the soil, but to spread like light across the pasture, to bend and tumble like the spring winds, to sit in the field and match our breath with the rhythm of this land. Our real work is to witness nature, and therefore to become part of it.
What is work worth, anyhow, if it does not bring us more alive? Learn to follow the light, to connect like roots to a place, and to move like the wind: freely, tumbling in joy.