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Endless soil — a poem
I rediscovered my typewriter recently. A Royal Quiet De Luxe typewriter that is anything but quiet in the calm of the early morning.
It is attached to a raggedy black box, worn along all the edges from travels I never went on. Yet the contents of the box take me to places I have a hard time going otherwise.
My typewriter is the only place I can write without hesitation.
The only place I can write poetry.
The only place I can write honestly, for myself.
I was reminded of this again this morning when I opened up the box and noticed some scrap paper nestled behind the typewriter. It held a poem I wrote on May 23, 2016.
As a soil scientist, I can only imagine I was thinking about soil at the time (because I am always thinking about soil). But now I see that the poem is a call to connect with more than just the soil itself. It is a call to build community for and with the soil; for and with each other.
hidden below
the glow
of the sun
deep beneath our feet
stretching far and wide
beyond
further than imagined
further than predicted
