by Matthew Nienow
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It may be that when we no longer know what to do
we have come to our real work.
we have come to our real work.
—Wendell Berry
When my planes squat under a film of the last month’s work, I know
I will probably have to sharpen a few irons before they are once again useful to me.
And yet I grow old at the thought of pulling the stone from the silt-water bucket.