Code Farmers

I’m over the hump now.  I can see the work for what it is.  I’ve read all that I can.  I’ve uncovered the truth.  I’ve seen how it functions.  I’ve learned what it says.  Now I have to formulate a plan, a plan of attack, because I’m going in and it’s not going to be pretty.  I’ve got a cold can of soda sitting at my side.  Both monitors are up.  The code is traced out in words on the screen, blasted by the raster, a haunting image of what lies ahead.


I’m ready for the fight, but my mind has not yet focused. The thoughts of the weekend have not yet faded.  The early morning rise has thrust me awake in a world that keeps on spinning as I try to catch hold.  There are shadows outside the window.  It is a hot spring day; the sun is blinding, but only in patches seeping through the bushes and trees. I am safe from it all, behind the glass, in my shadows, at my desk.  Still, it reminds me of what I must do, the structure of the plants, the branches and leaves, grouped together in clumps, tiny subroutines of the world, some overgrown, some in bloom.  How to prune them, where to cut, which will stay, which will go, how will I manage this garden so vibrant and ripe?  And where will I make room for all the others, fledgling growths, tiny saplings and yearning bulbs?  They sit beside me, around me, potted in dark, rich soil, waiting patiently for my skillful hands to reach forth and dig, to find a place for them to grow.  And I will plant them, each and everyone one.  And I will transform this savage jungle into a verdant masterpiece of life.



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