The Good Life

-------The Good Life-------

There is a man I have come to know,

whose hands are hard like ancient stone,

and whose eyes are gentle like a child's just before sleep.

He has little money, and even less worry.

His family is happy, together;

there are no leaks in the roof, the food on their table is fresh and there is plenty,
the woodpile is stacked for many winters, the children smile.

He is quiet
and careful with his words;
but he likes to sing loud in the fields;
exchanging verses with the tree fogs and crickets,

in between the rise and fall of his hoe.

His calloused hands tell stories;

of metal and wood, of rich earth and sunshine,
of harvests and entropy, of fire and steel and alchemy,

of physical labor, of prayer in motion.

He is full of Life, and spreads it like wildflower seeds;
though he is not deaf to the noises of despair throughout the world; he hears them,
and this gives his work greater meaning; with an intention
to do less harm, by doing more good.

His labors are those of Love;
they bring him in solidarity
together with the soil and the sky,
and with all those in between them.

He lives a simple life;he wears a hat of winnowed straw

and walks barefoot through the grass to wash his feet.

He doesn't rush,

for time and work are good him;

with each day

his body gets stronger,
his mind finds peace, and 

his heart opens to greet everything with a smile.

He cuts holes in his pockets and
fills them with the seeds of Buckwheat and Clover

so that flowers
and honeybee's
follow in his every footstep.

He rises early and greets the dawn with grace.

He works with the sun as it passes its reflection across the mystic earth.
He comes home and plays with his children, and
rests, content, with the littlest one upon his chest,
their heartbeat and breathing

syncopated to the common rhythm
of purpose fulfilled.

He has no fear, only Hope

in the Youth;
that they grow knowing
it takes work to live the Good Life,
and that the work
is Good.

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