"Turning the Soil "

The rusted spade 

slides deeply into last 

year's summer soil.

Fertile loam turned 

over, scattered leaves 

buried with roots 

and stones. 

A rite of spring,

an age old tradition.

Turning the soil.

It smells of ancient 

nature and decay.

Deeply fragrant, sweet 

and damp to my 

senses and memory.

Each mound lifted, 

exposing fresh ground.

Repeated motion,

following each row.

Turning the soil.

The garden rake glides 

across clumps, roots 

and loosened weeds.

Sifted from the reborn 

surface. Pulled, 

discarded, separated 

and removed.

Almost completed.

Dirt and sweat combine.

Turning the soil.

The earth is now ready.

The stage has been set.

Metal cages rooted for 

August's tomatoes.

Trellises tower over 

cucumber plants. Waiting 

to be covered with green. 

Nature is remade.

Another season begins by 

turning the soil.

The End