morning garden haiku

I've been fondling Mother Earth. Incessantly, passionately, reverently. Sarah, Nathalie, Joe and I have fondled, massaged, cupped and crumbled every square inch of the growing garden we are creating, each row being 3 feet deep, 4 feet wide and many too many feet long. We dig up each little pitchfork-full, rub it through our hands, shake the weed roots, pick through the crumbs to find more weeds and wire worms, and sift some more before shaping into the fertile mound that will miraculously yield our family's sustenance.

I wrote a while back about eyes per acre, but really it's fingers per inch. An exquisitely slow and sensual process of becoming intimate with our land, a lover of the earth in all her richness.

fleshy, rich moistness
crumbled through my trembling hands

farmer is lover