time in the world, that there was nothing better to do than just what you were doing. Part of him wasn’t off somewhere trying to catch a train or organize a strike. He was all there and giving of himself in his easy, steady way (“easy does it!”), giving what was ripe and ready to fall to the ground, not straining, not pumping it up, not wondering if it were just the right quality or not. And that’s how I like to think of him now that he’s gone.
