Breaking ground. . .
A bit small perhaps, and planted much too late, scrappy, sun-tinged seedlings give rise to cantaloupes no bigger than the palm of my hand. Hidden among leaves five times its size, a fine mottling of green betrays a watermelon as large as an average thumb nail.
There is joy in tilling the Earth.
I recently came to know Her more intimately as my mother than ever before. She cradled me in the space between dances in the arbor, and gently reached out for me as I fell. She held me in my visions, and accepted my gratitude at the water ceremony on Sunday morning.
Love her with everything you are. Pray that all may come to do the same.
There is joy in tilling the Earth. . .