Cloud watching in reverence while shoveling snow.
Shoveling snow while in reverence of cloud watching.
The same sentiment, but distinctly different.
I’m trying to turn our daily tasks on their heads.
I have seven greenhouses and seemingly never ending mountains of snow putting weight on their steel bows. I imagine them like the rib cage of an upside down whale, out of place in a habitat and needing rescuing. They are strong, but fragile.
Just before coming inside to write this, 4:30pm, i’d been watching the clouds delicately turn dances in the sky for the last hour. Soft, subtle, hues of blue and violet fading into one another. Feathery clouds, whisps, longitudinal wakes, all my words for them.
CSA members were pulling in and out of the driveway to pick-up their food. We looked at the starlings in the tree, talked about eagles, watched the dog leap through five foot snow to find a stick. We stood and noticed the clouds.
We didn’t talk about the food in their boxes and bags once. Perhaps that is not the food they came for. Perhaps that is only one course of the meal.
I breathe deep into the knowing that the body of work that I create is about nourishment. I’m trying to create a clean space to feed my senses. To feed the community of people who live near this farm. We don’t all live in the same watershed, but we eat from the same soil.
I’m learning to place the importance on the part that feels the most whole. That is the sky. The birds. The conversation. The quiet. The ability to move my body in it’s own cloud like rhythms, in deference to the needs of the farm and myself. In reverence to the clouds.