We have always complicated life.
Every generation has.
If we use this type rock, the edge lasts longer.
If we angle the blow this way the edge is better, sharper.
We each do this in our way.

The farm grew from our complicating life.
Why wander, find blue skys over buffalo,
when we can plow dust and search for clouds on the horizon?

The horse gave us ranches
where we tend to our horses.
We fence mustangs
feed them
heal them
tame them.
So we can work a different dusty life.

Years ago, the song "57 Channels and nothin' on"
and this morning, the channel tuned to Sunday morning.
They interview that singer about his return
to solo performance.
The audience shrunk
to spaces for one man & his guitars.
Simple?
No.
Now how does the boss
shape his complicated life?

And me?
The digital noise rises to fill the air.
I read as I listen for change.
As I read for it.
Alert.
Unaware.

The window turns.
18 and not imagining life past ancient 30.
The door turns.
60 as 18.
And 60 imagining another 40.
How do I shape my complicated life?
It is, as my grandfather knew it,
separating chaff from grain,
culling the mustang energy
from the noise.

It is about now.
Nothing else.
Uncomplicated.
Just so
and not so.
All at once.

While doing laundry
I check the tomato plants.
Another tomato is forming.
This evening, I'll plant Celantro seeds.
Even though it is too hot,
the shade of the peppers
may give them a chance.