I wrap my work around me and get lost in it. I reenter reality and look behind me and think, Wow, I did that?
Progress continues. I have not dropped from heat stroke and severe dehydration. I seem to be bound and determined to reclaim this acreage an inch at a time. That is a testament to my stubbornness, I guess, but on I go with piles of brush growing.
It may be difficult, hot, work but it is almost mindless so I can travel anywhere I want as I clip and pile. I have been to the South of France, Wales, two hundred years and millions of years into the past. It all happens as I clip and stack, clip and stack, clip and stack.
One stack
two stacks
three stacks more
and stack four
