communion of the spirit

Magic

 

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by stealth
it is becoming akin to a spiritual obligation
the execution of which is driven
by an emerging need

kneeling
in the fading dusk
he is creating holes in new-turned soil
with a finger or a thumb

inserting a slender seedling
into each hole as he makes them
firming the dirt around the plant
moving on

it is too late to be doing this
with the light almost gone
but the act requires resolution
and he moves with urgency
to settle-in the vibrant young onion stems
some still wearing black seed-caps

his movements call to mind the fervor
of a mathematician circling his theorem
a barrister approaching a nice question
of law

it cannot be postponed
but must be finished now
in this benediction

the differing textures of the soil
announce themselves
at each contact with finger or hand
here the cool and moist welcome
of new-made compost freshly dug in
at the edges of the row a powder dryness
un-quenched despite a good fall of rain
just yesterday

he notes the sensations
absorbs them into himself

finally
the last seedling is watered-in
and the glow of passion
fades a little
replaced by the deep-seated pleasure
of a job well done

and yet

there is another patch of dirt
ready for compost and for planting

what is next in the unending cycle
of crop rotation
and renewal

which seed to nurse into growth
to achieve potential

tomorrow
in the morning
the big-hearted broccoli can go in
beside the sweet corn
which is past its best
now that the early balm of autumn
is upon us

the excitement begins
gently
to build again
and that essential moment of communion
between man and plant and soil
flashes in the gleam of a promise
waiting only for the rise
of another sun
to be fulfilled

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© Frank Prem, 2009