Today my pleasure was
weeds and a shovel,
and a job that required
that I keep on working
long past my usual
sense of endurance,
past being tired,
past making choices —
at the command
of the process at hand,
focus and repetition,
into the place of
not thinking anything

I have certainly earned
the rise and fall of my breathing,
the languor of abandon,
this feeling of being stretched out
like long winter grass
pressing into the earth.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 4, 2015

photo by Edward Mulhern