on a thursday
here i'm sitting clawing at the dirt. trying to dig up the mushrooms that grow wild on the property and not doing a very good job. i have little piles everywhere. under the weeping willow. next to the wooden fence i helped build 3 summers ago, some of the paint still globbed in places. the skin on my thighs has that rippled affect you get when it's pressed into grass for too long. or gravel, but in this case, it's grass, freshly cut and giving off the sweetest smell. the puppy keeps rearing up on his hind legs and pushing agains my back, sending me almost head first into the tulips that have shown up over night. the sun is starting its decent into the horizon, first making its treck through the evergreens and oaks that line the yard. and i dig. i dig while johnny cash sings from the outdoor sound system. while the dogs lap up water from ceramic bowls. while somewhere, a neighbor trims their lawn. i dig until my fingers are sore and the dirt has made its way under my red fingernails and into the creases of my knuckles. i dig until the sun starts to disappear and my mother calls me in. still hunched over, legs splayed out from beneth blue fabric, back hunched, dirty hair hanging in my eyes, my toes anchoring me into the soft earth.