The Garden

I feel used.

I feel used in a way that is satisfying: to clarify. My body feels worked, but just enough to remain lively. In the sky I see the sun is bright behind a few puffed up clouds. The sky is not quite clear, with those clouds slowly rolling near. As I rest and watch, I don’t feel accomplished. That term, shall it be, seems so finite and finished. Terminal really. I am still in the process.

Evolving you could say. Most I meet seem to revolve around their knowns. I think that to step out of your known, meaning, yes, into the unknown, must accomplish more than some groans. My arms and my back loosen as I straighten to rest this old, used arm on my hoe. The breeze picks up. I feel the dew cool on my arms, neck, and back. I sternly decide that I am not revolving.

True, things that I like I may do again. After all, here on my land, I must rework if I am to gain. With guile intact I am active and engaged. From this simple prose, I now feel capable and assuaged.

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