Sweeping with a broom.
Washing with a wet cloth.
Filling the pellet stove.
Making dough.
Baking bread.
Cracking eggs.
Folding towels.
Making beds.
There is simple work around me. Simple work of the hands. And simple work of the patient mind. This work is like a calm pond in the wild hurricane winds of complex social communication. Simple work grounds me. It slows me down and fills me with a practical, humble peace.
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