The earth is like my body, but known and used far more and longer leaving wounds that heal with time and patience, just as I.
Frozen cold and hard in winter months; fed by thawing rain to soften hills and valleys into fertile land. Fingertips in foreplay lift the soil to new dimensions, but the hoe digs deeper for the planting of the seeds that nestle in the warm womb at the core.
Secrets burrow, bury themselves within the universe of living things. Tickled back to the surface by the fire that burns through layers, yet never burns itself out and burns forever as a light, a spirit, a separate entity. And as the earth, I shall survive and wait through season after season for every spring.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
This is beautiful!