Juxtaposition

Run, run, run. Go to bed too late, wake up too early. Go to work. Hurry to the store. Rush to the other job. Feed the cats. Pacify the neglected bird. Try to find time for cleaning house, laundry, dishes, vacuuming. Try to maintain some semblance of a social life. Run to the university and try to pry information out of the myriad levels of bureaucracy. Run, run, run. Rush, rush, rush. Never get a chance to stop.
Come home, sink my hands deep into the soil. Feel it seep into the crevices around my fingernails. Sift through it, breaking up the lumps and the roots of plants from seasons past. Absorb it; feel the bugs, the microbes, the fungus - the soil as a living organism. Smell the damp, musty richness. Dig holes. Pull seedlings from their pots. Separate the roots. Comfort the pain of separation from a sibling, a parent, a friend. Whisper words of growth, encouragement, and beauty to them. Smell the fresh scent of the greenery.  Slip them into the dirt. Pat their roots. Sing Cat Stevens to them. Breathe. Feel the world slip away. Remember why my spirituality is and forever shall be rooted in the earth.