Spring cleaning time is here again. Out with the crap we no longer use. My job is the outside stuff. Aline's got the inside crap. I prefer my job.
Open the pool. Put the summer tires on both cars. Clean the flower beds. Trim the trees. Fix the roof. Clean the garage. Pressure wash the driveway. Vacuum the glass from the shattered patio table. Set up the trampoline. I could go on but you get the point. There's a lot to do, and I haven't started thinking about the garden yet.
It's days like this one that I avoided for seven years. People use to caution me that working 6 days per week wasn't healthy. Ever since I sold the business I still work six days per week. None of them pay very well.
The one thing which I did look forward to is the burning of the bush. After we trimmed the trees, we had a massive bonfire in the back yard. At first, smoked rolled off the green branches like mercury in a broken thermometer. Then a flame emerged. A single flame that creeped ever higher in that mound of wood, as it tried to touch the sun. Then a second flame was born, cracking its shell of smoke. In no time, the flames rejoiced into my personal towering inferno.
I sat in silence for three hours, tending the flickering ballet. It was therapeutic listening to the whisper of the creek, the dancing lights and the singing robins.
I'm a bit tired, but very relaxed.
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