Worked-up
Dear Eugene, Yesterday after work I climbed up my garden shack to fix its leaky roof. As expected there was an entire ecosystem going on there, colonies of moss that really were quite a sight to behold, if only I had time to take in the meaning before displacing the decades-old civilization. I was racing against the sun, which, according to the weatherman, is not going to show itself again until resurrection time. I've never given so much of myself while kneeling down. It's different from garden work. Maybe it's the broken asphalt shingles pressing against my knee caps; maybe it's the weird angles at which I wielded my tools; maybe it's the latent anxiety that I might drop from a height that could leave me worse than dead. By the end of the night I was prostrating along the roof edge to finish the work, couldn't kneel any more. That posture of worship gave me much comfort; for a while I could actually feel the spring breeze that has been there all al...