Rain misted my face and hair as I pulled stubborn grass and dandelions from my strawberry beds. The soil was black like the dead of night and the worms were fat and wiggly.
I wanted to remove my yellow-colored gloves and sink my fingers into the dirt, but I knew my skin wouldn’t brace the chilly earth and air long enough to free the strawberries from their battle with the weeds.
Periodically, I paused my work to lift my eyes, take in the rest of the yard. My husband dug up raspberries and moved them to a better location, one where they could thrive and grow.
A small fire burned in the fire pit that devoured broken branches into ash. Our two cats played in the wet grass and climbed the fruit trees, oblivious to their soaked paws and damp fur. Our dog Stella sat serenely, watching me work, content with being close to her mama.
After a while of working, I succumbed to the swing that sat a safe distance from the fire. I eased into movement that resembled a quiet breeze and petted the dog and watched the cats.
I chatted with my husband as he ambled about the yard, finishing his own mental list of chores, and found a comfortable place between my breath to live and love.
There is a sweetness that can’t be bought. A sweetness that inflames brief moments of life. Moments where I’m able to see all the goodness that surrounds me.
Today embodied simple work alongside my husband and a deep love for the ground we live on.
Weathered Well 