Monday night I pulled garlic from the garden. Moist dirt clung to my bare feet. I stopped thinking about the time, the other things I could or "should" be doing, stopped listening to the tension in my head that is always disputing and questioning the choices I've made that have brought me to this point. I washed hand-fulls of garlic in blue buckets of rainwater and then sat on a brick cutting the roots from the cloves, trimming the greens while E pointed out flowers from the brick beside me. We waited for something quietly. Calm. It is this peace that I've always been waiting for, always been looking for, always been drawn to. How strange that it should be the very thing which I disturb daily.