-This poem reflects on gardening as an intimate act of renewal, care, and belonging in which the hands help shape spring’s becoming.
Hands enter the loosened earth,
fingers darkened with living soil,
turning the small and fragrant ground,
where roots will learn their hidden work.
The rake leaves quiet lines behind,
the trowel lifts stones and winter remains,
and every seed set down with care,
becomes a promise given shape.
The body bends, the breath grows calm,
sun rests warm along the back,
and in this simple, patient labor,
the day and spirit open wide.
To touch the earth is to belong,
to make a place where life can rise,
and feel beneath the ordinary dirt,
the tender future asking in.