We climb the ladder to the deck we’re building on the...

We climb the ladder to the deck we’re building on the second
story. We laid the fir planks last week, lovely in their dusky pink-gold color,
so we stand on solid ground. But there are no rails and there is a definitive
sense of drop, an edge right there, always fall-off-able. It does not feel
unsafe exactly, but it ups the awareness of where your body is in space. It is, I’ve found, tiring to stay aware of where your body is in space. It takes it out of you. And it makes me realize how much I take for granted not being aware of where my body is in space, how moving down the sidewalk, I do not have to anticipate each shift of weight. Vigilance is tiring. Paying attention is tiring. Falling off the edge is worse.

We carried ladders up the ladder to frame the roof over the
second story deck, still higher in the sky, and we looked over the neighborhood
from the point of view of mourning doves, or the little speckled finches that
nest in the eaves, that ditter in and out above our heads all day, maybe
thickening their own nests as the sun drops earlier and it hits freezing in the
nights.

Like any job, like any situation of work, like anything,
actually, like being alive, there are good days and bad days. There are good
weeks and bad weeks. And though it would feel wrong to call this a good week, it is one that I have felt
grateful to have my hands and mind occupied by simple physical tasks (cutting
rafters, climbing ladders, staying aware of where my body is
in space), and by interactions with simple
physical materials (two-by-eight planks of pine, a pencil, a hammer). It’s
not helping the way it usually does, but it’s helping a little bit, and I will take what I can get.