Just sitting here, amidst water again, with time passing slower than it has in a long, long time. There is nowhere to go. Nothing imperative to do. Nowhere to be.
Getting my hands dirty in more ways than one. Farming, some. Building, some. Cooking, some. Napping, some. Working, some.
Tasting the thrill of eating off the land.
Having days that begin at 630 am.
In bewilderment that there is a literal crocodile on property that we all seem to have reached a state of happy coexistence with.
Still a little awestruck and disbelieving, from time to time, that my parents made this — a dream — happen. For themselves. And us.