The Garden

My hands reach in deep,

kneading soil, down and over,

loosening the ground,

willing it to accept an offering

that waits in plastic,

an inferior home for roots

that long to grow, stretch

into the rich humus 

that He used to form all life.

What a privilege to be a tiller,

a keeper of this earth, 

if even in this small way,

to have some visceral

part in a garden, a reminder

of our Edenic-history, 

the beauty of our cultivated

soul-connected, earth-beingness.

—C.L. Fisher, April 2021

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