Picking Beans

“I need to pick beans this morning.”

“I can pick the beans.”

“I don’t think you understand. I mean… I. Need. To. Pick. Beans.”

I need this walk, this quiet walk of not-many-steps to a world outside my own head, away from the breakfast-time rabble.

I need the solitude. The quiet. The limitless sky above my head.

I need to hear birdsong, and hens waking, clucking softly in the hen house.

I need to see the dew glittering on leaves and flowers, transforming these ordinary things in such a way that I am reminded-

There Are No Ordinary Things.

But more than that…

I need the feeling of something real in my hands. Something alive, to remind me-

I Am Alive.

(How often is it pen and paper… or computer, or phone… these lifeless things?)

I need to see the tangible fruit of my labour as it fills a basket. A real basket in my hands.

I need to be small and surrounded by the wonder of Creation…I need that perspective, because when I am the centre of my universe, every little thing matters too much…

I need to savour the sacred moment… A beetle crawling across a leaf. The flurry of wings as a bird flies close. Sunlight hitting the tops of trees. A perfect pearl of dew…