When we first bought this house, the yard’s clay soil, untended for generations, clanged my shovel. For twenty years I have amended– added aged chicken manure, earthworm castings, bat guano, coffee grounds, kelp meal: dirt vitamins. The soil has matured alongside me, through drought and downpours, neglect and nurturing. Last week we had to remove two trees, dead with age. Their absence is glaring, but sun enters. Digging today for the new tree, the soil replied pliant, silky, rich, loamy, dark brown. I held a handful in my bare hand, let it trickle through my aging fingers. Repair after such suffering will not be quick, but earth can heal herself too.
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lovely. it feels like you are in my yard.
I am so loving your daily poetry practice!!!