It’s the immemorial feelings
I like the best: hunger, thirst,
their satisfaction; work-weariness,
earned rest; the falling again
from loneliness to love;
the green growth the mind takes
from the pastures in March;
the gayety in the stride
of a good team of Belgian mares
that seems to shudder from me
through all my ancestry.
~Wendell Berry “Goods”
No one can say I haven’t worked hard enough.
Pulling on the tugs, pushing into the yoke that I willingly allowed to weigh me down,
my ancestry birthed me for this hard work weariness.
But they might say I have lost the gayety in my stride, having hit too many rocks and run head-long into stumps.
They might say the joy lies deeper than my plow can reach.