Blue against green separated by hills the color of sand and green brown of distant trees. I am in Australia. Ryan, my fiance, is in the bedroom sleeping and I'm out back listening to the birds sing, being amazed by color, sky and air. I am warm and happy. The sky is a brilliant soft, ombre blue. There is no where else I want to be than in this wooden chair covered in green fabric- than with the bold black and white magpies and sweet small brown birds whose names I do not know. Than in the home of my lover who takes care of me. Than across the street from a green tractor watering vineyards. The street of which working men drive down in work trucks that rumble and remind me to be thankful of all the hands and minds doing the days work for all of us. A days work a poem written, a case closed, a dinner made, love given, a lawn mowed.
I don't think the sky being blue involves any work and I appreciate it all the better. In my human habit I still think it just is for me. The sky is blue because it is, not because it works to be so. I am me because I am. Maybe my greatest work, will not have been work.
