10:30 am
Sweat trickles from the band round my brow into my ears and down my cheek. The back of my hand, as I wipe my face, smells of dirt, more sweat and the oils of well-used, well-kept tools.
A starburst of sunlight through the branches of this tall, old tree blinds me momentarily. Perched on the tenth rung of the cherry-picking ladder, where it narrows to barely a foot wide, I struggle to get the blades of the long-armed pruner around a torn limb six feet higher.
David, Sena and I are pruning the orchard, a loose term for the asymetrical planting of fruit and nut trees on this south-facing hillside.
Many of these trees are 50 years old or more. We love them as old friends. From this cherry have come pies, jars of delicious preserved fruit for winter night snacks, and thousands of pounds of dried, pitted cherry raisins for salads and sweet and savory dishes.
Last week's storm tore branches off and left others dangling from peeled skin at odd angles. We are culling the damaged and sealing the wounds to keep pests at bay.
I grunt and give the sharp blades a last, slow push. They reward me with a clean cut through the branch and a satisfying cheur-ook as the limb drops to the ground, lifting a cloud of dust and leaf mold that makes me sneeze.
Giving my right shoulder a much needed break, I slip the pruner's leather thong over a hook on the ladder and turn to scan the vista.
This hillside slopes to a wide, meandering valley where the stream that feeds our few irrigation ditches ambles gently through a winding corridor of native oak, ash and shrubberies.
A red-tailed hawk circles over the recently mown hay field below. Catching the updraft, the hawk spirals lazily higher and higher until I can no longer see so much as a speck in the blue sky above.
My left hand tingles and burns hot with Reiki. Fingers together, I cup my aching right shoulder. The heat flows from my hand and spreads deep into the muscle tissue. The ball joint heats, and the pain in the shoulder subsides. The Reiki heat flows through my body, spreading gently, like warm caramel poured slowly on a flat tin to cool.
There is a peace that comes over me when I am with Reiki. My body seems to expand. I cannot tell, quite, where I stop and the ladder supporting me begins.
If I close my eyes, I feel bigger, as though I have nerve endings extending far from my body, touching the other trees, touching Sena and David, dancing with the molecules of the air.
The birds hush. I smell a wild animal, fur and dust and musky oil. Deer perhaps. Beside me, a leaf spirals into view and lazily down, the air so still I hear the dry edges make contact with its kin already on the ground.
The rounded rungs of the ladder are hard against my back, and I shift. Thirsty, I sling the gourd of water from its hook under the upper rung and take a long, cool drink, glugging greedily. Water spills from my mouth and down my shirt just as a breeze whips through the trees, feathering the dampened cotton against my skin.
I am warm with Reiki heat, cool with Earth's water and wind. What more can anyone ask than work that stretches the muscles, strengthens the bones, a clear sky overhead, good friends nearby, and a cool breeze on moist skin?
