a friend's autocorrect described me as 'sweet soil'
technological mishap, misnomer
right on the money
sweet soil soul
clad in terracotta warmth
fresh mulch with new rain as seasons change
home and distant at once
ready for bare feet and dirt under fingernails
care is messy, didn't you know
mother. nature. as earth is nurture and support for fragile roots
tender stems, new growth thriving despite harsh winters.
i sense an embroidery project for new gardening gloves
and fresh bulbs for colder climes
with changing season so too does a storm brew in me
all I can do is hope barkskin heals
sweet sap keep contained
and leaf flesh plump
for colour among the earthen tones
and rebirth sprouts hope
in echoing trunk-chests that forgot
decay is part of the lifecycle
how technology can still blossom
new life, connection
organic and born of bytes
not thorn-prick integration
plant and palm
but a symbiosis of metals from the earth
and well-rooted saplings
ready to weather the moon's teary refrain
as autumn slips in on the back of hazy September blues to grey