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.