I always feel a renewed sense of purpose, of my place in the spring time. My feelings of belonging, of knowing where I am and who I am in this world grow strong again. For me, the soil is a sort of sacred place, not frightening or filthy or just an empty place to put up a building. It has a life all it’s own. And I accept one day I’ll be a part of it again. This poem expresses well the visceral joy and connection I feel from finally getting my fingers – and usually my whole self- dirty again.

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gone to ground

weathered stones
rough in my palm
scrape and peel
carving their way
into my bones

stiff thorns break
thin pale skin
blood flows, ready
to meet the air
kiss the ground

silken soil slides
through my fingers
under my nails
down to the quick
never to come out

going down now
into the ground
again, taking up
my place, kneeling
here on earth

finding a heaven
lies in the dirt
the rock, the wet
and sky, as above
so with me below