Weathered, worn, worked, this is how I look and feel at the end of some days, like today. This wood-carved tree stump in front of the farm house is my reflection. I feel tired, ugly, achy. I'm melting away by the forces of the merciless sun, whom I used to be best friends with but seriously having second thoughts. After hours of weeding what feels like endless rows of kale and broccoli stretching into eternity, and being eaten alive by mosquitoes, which I am sure were put on this earth for the sole purpose of torturing and testing a woman's patience, those thoughts slowly begin to creep into my head, breaking the undying silence of an open field. Is this the reality of the paradise I had dreamed of? Is this what love feels like? Do I really want to do what I love? Will it make me love less? Or is this simply, pain for passion?

*photo by Tiffanie Ma