I sit on my back porch and snap some half runners. It’s a humble form of meditation.
I remove the string as if pulling the thread from a spool.
Snap. Snap. The sound of the bean breaking is crisp, satisfying. The verdant, vital scent of the fresh green bean has such an immediacy to it. It feels as if the bean is life itself.
I fall into a rhythm of stringing and snapping and find peace in the repetitive motion.
When I’m done, my thumb is sore, its nail stained green, but I feel serene.