dragging the hand through freshly tilled soil stirs silent spirits to life, encouraging a closeness a purpose of being as the hand passes through previous millennial seasons each with a message of endurance and promise, impartial to flowers or weeds for this year or next  


It was a day without sun. A full thickness of gun metal clouds separated fallowed fields from heaven. In longtime past, the ground was harvest strong; abundant colors of growth, the standard of success. Watered words promised planting.  The seeds are long forgotten and folded away. The weather changes out.  Sometimes late, never early.  Next … More NEXT YEAR