In the Garden- beneath our Feet

Hewn by worm casts
And labouring fork
Sifted through the gardener’s hand
The dampness lingers under
ancient ferns
Yet to be unfurled;
A primeval world of
Sweet fungal spores
Connected to the dawn of time
Of process and precision
And small detail;
Tiny seedlings pushing through
Lifting crumbs and flakes of bark
and stones
But with power to change;
Drawn from darkness
To a world of light;
A gentleness
Where thoughts are stilled
And noise is ceased;
Connected to
The wonder of creation
Beneath our feet
When we kneel to touch it.

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