deeper soil

My garden for the second year in a row is holding its breath–a kind of regrouping, a rest, making sure those roots are deep, the buds turning the right way, and then surely waiting for the sky to blue deeply. Even though i’m a flowergirl by day at work, flowers, plants, roots have been on my mind much more than normal this summer. Time to plant another garden, one in my thoughts and growing from my fingers, deeper soil.

Since the flood in 2013, roots have been prevalent in my work.

I think of how roots not only let things grow, but anchor, delve deep into layers and layers, pierce stone, search water, search earth, seeking nurture and permanency.

Every time we go to the mountains, my eyes find the seekers, the holders of place and time. Taken at Red Rock Canyon in Waterton Park last week, these visible reminders show me the dominion of tenacity, the innate desire and need of solid ground to moor so growth, flowering and seeding can happen.

Roots are veins as well, and tendons, supports, carriers of blood, droghers bearing impulse, explorers of new territory, guardians and defenders of old ground.

There are always cuttings on my windowsills with fine filaments waiting for soil.

Creeping, settling, looking for any escape, solidity.

I’ve been struggling, seriously doubting, second guessing, sabotaging and burying things the last month or two. Despite a good life, a decent job, and people and animals who love me, i’ve been fighting the Black Dog again. *That* root is unfortunately very strong, going to my bedrock. I’d like to bury that damn dog far below the surface, fossilize it, break it into small parts that will feed new growth, root new stock. Go back to origin. Go to ground. Till over and start again. Make it disappear but for a few fragments of coal.

Or diamonds, should i be so lucky.

I can’t not make, as presently hard as either approbation is.