The greenest green sprouts out of dirty brown soil thick
with stones. The roots of towering trees wrap
themselves around the edges of earth.
Digging in the garden.
Digging deep into the unknown.
Ladybug
lands nearby to take in the view.
Spiders
creep along fence pathways commuting to webbed homes.
Their little tiny legs brush along the wood unheard.
Big black beetle
hides in a foundation crevice blending into the black knot
disappearing into the air.
Birds balance on pine
branches singing out lyrics to mystic bird songs, little ditties
passed through generations, haunting to the ear.
A sad but happy song travels the Spring air.
My shovel
dings a rock.
Kids play hockey in the culdesac. Sticks click
pavement. Plastic wheels roll about. Voices call out
to one another. A yellow tennis ball bounces by.
A neighbourhood
cat, calico with eyes wide, slinks along in the bruised purple underbrush.
Her little padded feet careful in every step.
Digging in the garden.
Digging into my soul.
Black rich dirt underneath my broken nails.
Worms
disturbed and wiggling away. Small creatures
stirred up by my metal shiny spade.
A fat mosquito
busies herself looking for a sucking mate preferably plump
with red. The day grows dim in lime green moss shade.
Cool
early spring air dampens my skin. A chill sets through my flesh,
creeps into my tired bones.
Small adventures fill hours. New visions of life crawl
through the path of my garden. I dig sometimes just to dig.
Holes
fill with life buried just under the surface. I seek out that life
for the betterment of my own.