The Dark Soil

I do not think you are the delicate bud that rises from her green cloak, giving hope in the last days of winter.


Nor are you the spring bloom that turns her radiant face to the sun for all to see.


I think you are the earth. The dark, hidden soil that gives life and holds steady, steady, in the face of violent birth and death.


You are the quiet force that grasps each root, keeping the fragile bloom from crashing back into the deep. 


You are the warm loam. You are the source of all vibrant life, of my vibrant life. 


I cannot be parted from you, my earth. My soul is entwined with yours. 

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