Here’s the rocks I’m moving out of my garden–where they served as borders–and transporting them along this bank that runs along the back of my house. I’ve still got a lot more to move, but the work feels good to my body.
Flower buds on my plum tree. I always tell her to wait, hold off, take it easy, but I feel it’s like telling the tree not to orgasm. She’ll bloom when she can’t hold back anymore, and maybe that will be too soon, and maybe not.