the small dig

Life finds its way in even the most inhospitable conditions The earthworm reminds me that a pile of dirt can be home As I sift through the gravel the broken shards of glass the bits of bricks the rusty nails As I turn over the soil and one by one pull out the pieces that could cut my bare feet I give a gift to my past self working through old pain, quite literally collecting it in a toy dump truck to go to the pile of refuse To my present self I give the gift of refuge sunshine I feel in my bones that I evolved to get satisfaction from digging in the dirt. To future me I give one more patch of turned soil a place where plants may grow my feet will walk when it is warm Looking at the entirety of the task at hand overwhelms me So instead I focus on my hands in the dirt removing the sharp stone its extrication my processing its extraction my protection