A day of rest can mean many things. Today, my Sabbath was six hours of swinging a sledgehammer against decomposed granite, working on the trails up at Granite Mountain. I've done some trailwork before, but not rockwork, and it took my body some time to adjust to the jar and clang of impact. Oh, but how I love to learn a new thing: soon, I knew which rocks would crumble and which split, and where. The swipes which had been clumsy became smooth, effective. The sun burned my shoulders and my mind emptied. My previous trailwork had consisted of moving fallen trees, mostly, and pulling fence. Pulling fence is one of the more sastifying tasks I've ever done, but building stairs out of rock has an art to it. After a while, you learn what a good slab looks like, and how it needs to fit with the rest. Turn it just a few degrees, yes, yes, there. Weight against weight: friction and gravity do the work for you. Afternoon stretched on, muscles aching, sweat beading, dust flying. He rolled over a big rock to make crushfill, handed me the sledge with a grin. Have at it. People passed all day, and thanked us. We smiled. Our pleasure.


By now I am dusty and hungry and tired and content. The body and mind are the same, and not the same: working the one can relieve the other, revive them both. Tomorrow my sunburned, scraped-up, aching shoulders will make me smile. For now, the shower is the only bliss I need.