Can it stay like this forever?

A day of hard work. A day of brekkie with friends. A day talkin' Soulard history and kickin dirt with this one and that one that passes by.

A day where the skidder takes me around the up and down my hills my streets. Over the bridge to uppity Laffette for a quick look, then back again to comfort and community.

A day where the dust and dirt spew from rock and mortar from 1850 and cover me and fill my eyes and my ears and I feel history in me, on me. And I feel good thinking I am a part of history. That something will stand as testament to my sweat and blood and passion.

A complete day. And it too will pass and that is good. Because tomorrow I can do it again.