The people I love the best br jump into work head first br without dallying in the shallows br and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight. br They seem to become natives of that element, br the black sleek heads of seals br bouncing like half-submerged balls. br br I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart, br who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience, br who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward, br who do what has to be done, again and again. br br I want to be with people who submerge br in the task, who go into the fields to harvest br and work in a row and pass the bags along, br who are not parlor generals and field deserters br but move in a common rhythm br when the food must come in or the fire be put out. br br The work of the world is common as mud. br Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust. br But the thing worth doing well done br has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident. br Greek amphoras for wine or oil, br Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums br but you know they were made to be used. br The pitcher cries for water to carry br and a person for work that is real.