Sowing

Kneeling in the damp soil

dirty fingers gently make holes

for seeds.

Across the road

a construction crew builds

many houses.

Like me they sweat

mud-spattered and muscle sore

from the labor.

Like me they believe

what they do is right, is good

they are not evil men.

They began their work

in a copse of trees which had to be removed

allowing space for building.

Mine began

on a small, sandy patch of ground

where sparse grass grew.

They cut trees

dug stumps

preparing the land.

I spread depths

of mulch and  compost

preparing the land.

From the high seats

of diesel excavators

they waved hello.

My bare feet

damp and connected to the earth

I smile and wave back.

 

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