Bread is baked and wrapped. I finished at around 5 this afternoon. Didn't make mixes or cakes because I ran out of grain, but still had a decent amount finished. Floors are swept. Counters wiped. Mother is wiped.
I thanked God for our shower as the cool water washed away the flour and sweat and grime of the day.
I even took a stroll around the yard and the garden and looked at the lettuce coming up and the corn and the potatoes and onions. Even the carrots are now coming up. I tried not to look too hard at the weeds. We have a big work day scheduled on Monday and I am optimistic.
The air cooled off and left a slightly hazy sky.
I wanted to post a poem tonight. I wished I could find a poem to post that would express the feeling I feel when when cool air blows gently on my face and the trees sway like in a dance. I wanted to capture the whispering of their branches and the smell of green and the feeling of longing that I have felt my whole life long that is even more pronounced since Philip is gone. I tried to find a poem that would interpret my hopes and my fears that would look like weeds in the garden and the little baby cherries that survived the frost and the wind.
I tried looking up a couple of poems, but was too tired to search. So I have all these thoughts banging around in my head, the peace of children happily occupied, the quiet of a house filled with completed labors, friends who walk alongside me, new beginnings, endings that aren't really endings, and the wind.
Where is my Donald Hall book of poetry? Usually in his collection I can find something. Alas, I laid it down somewhere and now can't remember where. I just turned in the Wendell Berry collection, overdue.
Well, the poetry is written all over this farm. I will hang my head out my window for a few minutes, feel the breeze and listen. Thankful for the poetry God has written all throughout this amazing world. Then I will lay my head down upon my pillow and rest, thankful to have survived another day.