How she digs deep into rich loam
absorbing the currents of earth’s hearth
in the palms of her hands,
strong and sure, wet with rain
she must guide tiny tendril sprouts
into the threshold of spring.
Mud and sweat, digging, diving into earth,
A firm grip pounding solid pole,
Driving a staff into readied amber ground
made rich with her finger-tips,
pressing softly into the warm walls of life,
her healing hands gently guiding home.
