In this annual ritual digging
black scent of ancient earth
crawls under my fingernails,
clings to my old clothes.
Unconscious pleasure in the feel,
my hands caress the goddess’ skin,
home to countless exquisite miracles,
that link the living and the dead.
Bacteria, that’s all there was,
for half of life’s presence on Earth,
preparing the clay so Adam et. al.
could rise and love the sun.
They’re still there, the unseen multitude
that first learned to eat sunlight,
that made the sweet air we breathe,
that change the stuff of death to life.
I believe in the Holy Dirt,
Lord and giver of life
that proceeds from the mother,
without whom there is no life.
Amen
- Chuck Dayton
For dirt and air and sun and water, I give my thanks this day.
For the farmers and the reapers and the cooks and the laborers,
I give my thanks this day.
Help me, O God, to never forget this tapestry of people of which I am a thread. Amen
- Read Psalm 139
