there's more to life than this

...and how the women toil in the fields, silent with their thoughts and their hearts, wondering whether or not they really care what the men think. How is there time to think? There is work to be done, and done again, wearing away the skin of our hands. Thinking is a luxury for those with a life less physical. We are in our rhythm, in the dance that we know and can trust. What is it men want from us? To possess something we're not supposed to acknowledge that we have -- how can you possess me but yet not hold me in your heart?

--Anonymous

Describe your current mood: weathered