Digging in the dirt for a an hour yesterday morning was a glorious respite! As I added soil here and there; filling low places in flower beds trimming and tidying as I went. I was overjoyed in the black soil I found under the piles of leaves along the fence that I pile up every year. It was perfectly black with the perfect consistency.
My family got home and I so wanted to share my joy with them. Hmmmm...
How do I state that very spiritual moment? "You should have seen the shovelfuls of black soil from my compost?" I can only imagine their response.
What words could I use to help them understand the fulfillment that I have in knowing the leaves that we raked years and years ago are now ready to sow plants and seeds in?
Would they understand my joy in knowing that our "trash" is now ready to produce?
How I treasure the hope and belief that the ashes and humus of my life will result in new beginnings.
No...this soil is dirt that only a mother could love.
I'm o.k. with my own contentment this morning as I watch the birds pecking through newly unearthed treasure.
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