I am beginning to be old now, still learning,

still amazed at the idea that my life here on this farm

is inexhaustible,

it’s possibilities are boundless,

behind me and ahead of me and when I die,

it will still not nearly be over or finished.

I know now I have lived on a farm before, in another life,

another place,

I know because I knew I was home when I bought my farm,

and  came to live on it.

Walking in the woods the other day,

I realized that every good and wonderful thing in my life

– Maria, my blogs, my blog, my photos, my friends, Red, Fate, Gus,

Lulu, Fanny, Minnie and Flo, the deep woods, the rolling hills,

the bursting gardens – have all come from the farm.

The farm is my true mother,

it is a whirlpool that sucked me in,

like it was some ancient well,

and spun me around and around,

until I shed the fear and confusion and anger,

it rubbed my face in my destiny, past, present and future.

Every man is followed by a shadow,

which is the end of his life, his death,

the deepest and most unfathomable sinkhole there is.

Life looks different when you have so many years behind you

than ahead of you,

every day is precious,

but not in the old and urgent way,

it is the most human kind of joy to be in the world.

The farm is like an old man to me,

all of his human obligations me, his life beginning to wind down,

peace descended and destiny revealed,

his life the most intricate and delicate tapestry.

Because he did not ever expect to be finished,

he is learning  to learn, because he can finally learn,

he is beginning to listen, because he is beginning to listen,

he has found love and is loved.

He often wonders why this came to late, why it was so hard,

but out in the woods, he understands that this is the point.

He accepts his destiny and  honors it,

he was never as much afraid of death as he was of life.

It is not from his own face in the mirror that he learned

to be better than he was, or is now.

Let it be. Let it go. It is enough.