Today I hustled. I fed. I chauffeured. I walked. I shopped. I chauffeured some more. I prepped. I cleaned. I chided. I sat at a desk in a windowless office watching the light change as clouds softened the sunlight hitting the door. I messaged. I read and typed. I focused and tinkered. I emailed people in Hawaii and Maryland. I ran.
When evening came, I washed and peeled and chopped and cut and cut until I noticed I had one more thing to wash and cut and walked through the door into the rain and out to the garden. I walked to the middle of the deserted plot and knelt down to pick some lettuce. I plucked, and as the raindrops softly plop-plopped on my bare shoulders and rat-a-tatted on the lettuce leaves, for the first time all day, I stopped thinking and working and hustling, and I listened.