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My old sneakers are caked with clay. There’s dirt under my fingernails, and slivers in my hands. A gaping hole runs seam to seam in the knee of my jeans. When summer is here, I’ll cut them off to shorts so I’ll have a nice pair of pants to sleep in and wear around the house. Who knows how old my tanktop is. Knowing me, probably seven or so years old.

I am a fish in water. I love the smell of soil. There are flowers in my garden. Tiny daffodils come first, followed by the others. At our old house, I could always find my old garden plot in the Tall Grass from the previous year because of those sunny flowers.

I jut my shovel into the clay of our new home. The metal dings and grates off rocks. No matter. I’m strong, and the shovel is sturdy. I haul the bag of mulch over and mix it with the clay soil I’ve broken up.

Red wings sing around me. Sparrows chatter at each other from tree tops. A salty wind plays in the trees and in my hair.

I am a fish in water. I almost drowned in the air, all do-dadded up. The corridors echoed with people gossiping and chattering away. Ick. Buy this, buy that. Look all sexy; the guys will dig you then. Let us just fix you right up. See how pathetic you look next to all these people? Come join us! Look the latest.

No thank you. Give me good, clean dirt any day. Give me a patch of earth to make my own, and a few flowers to brighten it. I’ll surround it with rocks collected over the years. And I’ll trap the bluebells inside a Romanesque pot to flourish there. Plant the flowers, and plant flowers in your heart and soul. Let God water them. Pray, and ask for blessings, and for God to work all things for good. Pull up the weeds, they ain’t got no business being there.

This is my heart. This is my soul. Lord, have Your way in me.

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