The Hamlet Project

Pulling on the reins of the old mule that has become my career, I shuffle my feet through the mud. I’ve run out of carrots. I used to feed that old mule little bites of sweet young carrots plucked from the ground by their leafy ferny greens. I’d give the mule a little bite, then tie the carrot to a string which I dangled well in front of us and off she’d go, slowly, of course, but surely.
But the same carrot will not last longer than a day. It will start to lose its fresh appeal and if I don’t give that old mule her carrot at the end of the day, she would be petulant and moody and not follow the next day’s carrot. But. This ground is dry and brittle. I haven’t seen vegetables poking their heads from the ground in ages. We move slowly. I can’t persuade her to go any faster than she feels like. Which is not very. But I pull on her lead anyway, hoping to convince her that the next step is better than the last.