People who work indoors under the government of clocks never meet time face to face.
Their quick seconds are dismissed by the clicking of typewriters, and when their typewriters fall silent, their day is over.

We of Out of Doors have a daily eternity to contend with during which only our hands are busy; our minds may grow old and young again between sunrise and sunset; the future may be remade in an hour, hope killed and reborn before a blackbird's song is over.

We know the length of days.

And after many slow months of stress we come back again, old and bewildered with much silence and much wondering, to our friends in offices, and find them unchanged, floating innocently on the surface of time.
Sarah Brown dropped her hoe and fell upon her knees.
"I can't hoe any more," she said.

"There are twenty-five more beans, but I can't hoe them." "Why should you ?" asked the nearest fairy indifferently.