The Spark

I felt good when I was building the fire pit in May.
Picking granite from an old quarry by the ocean.
Moving boulders with a come-along.
Building a wall.

What do I mean by good?

I felt alive.
Like I was doing what I should be doing.
Like a kid playing in the woods.
Like I was in alignment with myself.

Since then, as the project shifted to flatwork in June, that feeling has faded.
The spark is gone.

It’s production work now.
I’m not that kind of mason.

I can do the work.
And there’s a certain satisfaction in seeing all the pieces of a preordained puzzle come together.

But it doesn’t get the creative juices flowing.
The map is a little too detailed.
The territory a little too well defined.