It’s in the building that the job comes alive –
The hammering of nails, the grasping of wood rough-handed,
The wind and chill atop a roof,
Snow blowing free across the fields in a striding mass that whirls and encompasses,
Striking through the skin to exhilarate the heart,
Each man to himself,
Wrapped in elemental Nature
Together against the world.
It’s in the building that the job comes alive –
How on a sunny day cement tangs the air,
Water puddles the ground,
A bee blows past –
And in that moment
The contrast with the earth and heavy labour is so sweet, so sour,
That life is held at the point of a pendulum unresolved,
About to fall.
2008
Feeling alive doing building work.
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