Scent of soil

I was driving on the highway when I remembered my walk in the woods three days previously, just after it rained. I had stooped down to examine a rock protruding from last year's leaves on the ground, and I dug a little at the edge of the rock to see if it would loosen enough for me to pick it up. It didn't. But for the rest of my walk, my fingers carried the scent of the moist rich earth, incredibly fecund, indescribable.

So I pulled over off the road to write down the words before I forgot them.

(When I first frantically and in a most driven way typed these words into my iPhone notes thingy, I glanced at the first few words and the word "soil" stood written as "soul". I like that.)

Oh the soil

She is moist within

Ready for seed

For sun to shine and rain to soak in

To burst into life

To quicken with grow.

Though root stretch, leaf unfurl in slow

And patient measure,

Unfolding life,

Let all eyes take pleasure

In fresh and new and hope and green

All painted in

To this

The richest work I've ever seen.