Bits and pieces. Staves and hoops.
Hardware and sawdust.
It is always the work.
Dull. Unromantic. at times, painful,
the work itself leaving scars.
And yet. And yet…..
It is the work that creates the miracles.
The nose to the grindstone I don’t want to do it work.
I am not a fan of it all. Not a fan of discipline
or organization or the work required.
It cuts against my grain.
It fights my very nature.
Still, I do it.
The alternative is too terrible to bear.
About this poem
Everything I want in life lies on the other side of working at it. Between my depression and my bohemian nature, that sucks. But as the last line says, the alternative is too terrible to bear.
You want the stuff – physical, spiritual, emotional – you do the work.
I want to not work on stuff today. Badly. But here I am, wagging my finger at myself. Sometimes I even listen.
Off to work,
PS – The picture was taken at Mystic Seaport, CT.