Today, overlooking the snow covered hill of seneca lake I thought to myself, what if the snow never melted? I mean, who am I to say that spring will return, for do I have control in the matter? What force must be pulling me to reflect on the magnanimity of the silent snow, building up around me. I wonder if I stayed in one place long enough that the snow would melt around my body faster that my bodys 98.6 could melt the snow?
We pounded in greenhouse stakes today. 26 by 48 transplanted level, measure, a squared plus b squared. What are we doing here?
They slammed into the frozen earth, I thought it was to cold, my brother was right. ICE.
The longer I work with my brother the more absolute he may be. I'm not sure if pounding in stakes is some sort of test to prove toughness, or if its simply fun for the multi dimensional older brothers out there. I wonder why we'd get to rocks in the ground and the stake wouldn't move, there must be some connection. Rocks lay in our way, like poisoned thoughts in the construction of something unbelievably sweet. We pound stakes like railroad workers did back in the good ol' day. We are humbled by the length of metal stakes driven by the human hands day in day out. Methodical foreplay towards the conductor's will. Without the Rocks, there is something graceful beyond the glow of the morning sun, beyond our reflection of brotherly love