I found myself digging my hand into the flower box outside the restaurant, to roll the moist soil between my fingers, feel it imbed under my nails, inhale the fragrance, close my eyes to relive another time and place — he was old before I knew him, on one knee breaking apart a clump of soil with his callused, weathered hands, knowing by the texture and smell whether it was time to plant — when dirt and grass were underfoot, few of the roads were paved and the smell of steel and filth was unknown.
covered by concrete,
a future only found where
the earth remembers
This week Margo asked for a piece about “the land”. She was a bit more descriptive, but that is why there is a link, so you can go read what she has to say. 🙂