Chicken Eggs

I am standing in front of a steaming pile. It’s taller than I am, and so I get to work. I am raking and shoveling the mulch delivered to Grace Farms with the discipline of an army ant. It’s about 6:30 AM – my morning farm shift – As I shovel deeper into the pile of chipped trees, the heat is obvious. The tree was upright, then it wasn’t. The tree was alive, then it wasn’t. And again – it is one thing becoming another. The morning shifts are short, the responsibilities of day have no pause button for my messy farm project.