The shift begins before the change.
It starts with the knowledge that movements are about to occur,
with subtle sensations caused by tidying, making lists,
The shift continues with the first moment in which we must remind ourselves:
“stay present, the future will not grow nearer even if we run to it”
The shift soon becomes a final wander around a place that has held us firmly, a final studying of the faces of those who have been like family, a final breath of the air and of the space that has cushioned both our growing and our falling.
One more time we note:
the colour of each blade of grass in the tuft beneath our boot,
the thickening of the wool of the ewes,
the bronze stems of the faded sunflowers dry with cotton pith
past the moss growing on that bare patch of ground,
the hay piled high in the well-lit barn,
the friendly dog with wide yellow eyes.
Quieter than the bleaching grass, the shift will end.
It will have faded slowly while we moved things around, and caught up on sleep.
Like the creeping moss, the shift will bring us into new routines, new chaos, new space, new movements.
No movement will occur without the shift.
Tomorrow is our last day working at Green Being Farm, where Seb and I have been interning “part-time” for the last 7 months. The last few weeks we’ve been working hard to get everything harvested and put away in their root cellar (which is made of an old swimming pool!). They sell their vegetables through a 90 member winter CSA- so every other week through the winter their members get a bag overflowing with gorgeous vegetables-leeks, spinach, lettuce, celeriac, parsley, parsnips, potatoes, beets, carrots, kale, collard, rutabega, garlic, and more! Who knew so many things could be eaten all winter?
Things are about the change- and I’m ready for some rest and re-grouping. I sure am going to miss this place, these mentors/friends, these animals, and this land.