The pace in California has been urgent
since the Gold Rush dream of short-cuts
to the unending, ubiquitous rolls of buzzing
snare drums announcing another parade
down Easy Street that everyone in and out
of state still believes is far better than
pastoral quietude, the calm river spread
with its ripple-less glass reflection of
mountain peaks that hang upside-down
in timeless skies, we rush instead to wait
in lines going nowhere fast—our contagious
fever we cannot cure with more of the same.
drycrikjournal 
That one speaks volumes to me. I’ve figured out that the only time I feel like myself is on the way back from the top of my little rock pile. I’ve turned a life of agricultural work into the same rat race that the city people are in… Time to change and get rid of the parts that don’t fit.
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I know, I know, Caleb, we exist in two separate worlds. The only cure for the urgency and stress I’ve found is the simple satisfaction with how my time is spent, more often than not on distasteful and menial activities I couldn’t pay someone else to do, and learn to enjoy them—my literal interpretation of the ‘meek’ beatitude. Yours is indeed a wild rock pile.
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Ah California…
Fast and urgent.
Always ahead of every state.
A dream and a nightmare too.
Taking it easy is harder, even in rural areas.
Still gorgeous
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