This morning, in the back yard. 

"As for Jesus, by all accounts he didn’t own a toothbrush. No baggage, no furniture, no change of linen, no handkerchief, no passport, no identity card, no bankbook, no love letters, no insurance policy, no address book. To be sure, he had no wife, no children, no home (not even a winter palace) and no correspondence to look after. As far as we know, he never wrote a line. Home was where-ever he happened to be. Not where he hung his hat—because he never wore a hat. He had no wants, that’s the thing. He didn’t even have to think about such a menial job as wardrobe attendant. After a time he ceased working as a carpenter. Not that he was looking for bigger wages. No, he had more important work to do. He set out to prove the absurdity of living by the sweat of one’s brow. Behold the lilies in the field…." - Henry Miller, Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch