I belong in the country quiet,
my hands digging in the cool soil
or moving across a blank page
filling it with the diggings of my mind’s earth–
free to wander in the forest of my mind
and take my time.
I belong in the country quiet,
my hands digging in the cool soil
or moving across a blank page
filling it with the diggings of my mind’s earth–
free to wander in the forest of my mind
and take my time.
Exquisite poem. Particularly like how digging in the soil is related to digging in the mind.
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Thank you, Sharon–my two passions.
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Very concise.
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