Labor

Put on your clothes. Tie your shoes. Make the bed. Eat breakfast. Prepare lunch. Go to school. Read. Write. Do mathematics. Ride to the burger chef. Flip burgers. Bag french fries. Switch jobs. Bag groceries. Operate a cash register. Graduate. Go to college. Study. Sell shoes. Wash dishes. Sell books door to door. Stock shelves in drug store. Graduate. Move to another state. Sell insurance. Sell advertising. Live in a jail for two days. Move to another state. Sell printing. Operate a paper-cutting machine. Get saved.Get married. Move into a house. Raise children. Read the ancient scriptures every morning. Operate a paper-folding machine. Assemble furniture in a factory. Move into another house. Tie rebar for bridge construction. Pour concrete. Build houses. Nail boards together.

Move to another city. Manage a church renovation. Paint houses.

Move into a new house. Fix plumbing. Maintain apartments. Write books. Publish books. Set the dinner table. Entertain guests. Load the dishwasher. Then. . . Sleep that knits the raveled sleeve of care. . . sleep, perchance to dream. . . dreams you can never remember. Pack luggage. Drive to the coast. Jump in the ocean. Drive home. Write. Blog. Cook dinner. Rinse dishes. Sweep the floor. Vacuum the floors. Paint the house. Clear the gutters. Take a vacation. Fly across the continent. Fly across the ocean. Vacation. Return home. Unpack luggage. Go back to work. . . busy as. bees.

Man works from sun to sun; Woman’s work is never done. Lend a helping hand. Watch the seasons pass. Remember the years past. Then one fateful day, your labors are over. . . slip into the eternal room, to join ancestors, to greet the Son of Man who conquered death itself, stepping into eternity, treading streets of gold. . . a great way to conclude this life of love, labor and looking back on it all. . . Life, a labor of Love. Glass Chimera