It's early morning. There is a cool breeze and the three of us are bent over, hands to the ground, on the site where the pournari forest used to be, clipping short underbush and gathering it in our zambili's. It feels like gardening- silence, and the liquid trilling of the birds- and honestly, there are no thoughts going through my mind.
It is bliss. Mindless work. Just revelling in being high on the wall on the side of a mountain and no one talking.
When I used to work in Building 10, often I wouldn't think of anything at all either. The rest of the time I would "tune in" to what other people were saying, joining in with the jokes, or sharing my opinion on a whole range of topics. Though B10 is large, sound carries extremely well, and when you ask a question of your trenchmate, everyone can hear. Some of my favourite "shows" to tune in to were whenever Duncan or Lyle talked, or to listen to Laura share some tidbit about the history of the surrounding area.
But out in Building 1 (the stoa has a number now! Yay!) there is not much to say to one another except grunts and pants that make me giggle because they sound remarkably similar to those produced in childbirth.
Today, while we were taking a break in the scant shade provided by the edge of the forest we had created, we overheard someone singing. It was Margriet, the Canadian director of our site, and she was singing opera to herself while working somewhere up the path from us. It was beautiful, and though we did not know the song, it didn't matter because it fit so well with the wind and the birds.
To be honest, sometimes I think about my life. I think about how glad I am to be getting older and wiser, and I think about how glad I am to be young and strong and stretching my muscles. I think about my past, and I think about my future. But mostly I exist in the present moment, and maybe that's why I love digging so much.
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