Slats of sunlight angle on us from the
west. The porch is steeped in shadow while we
sit on broken steps examining the
expanse of black plastic yard, tucked and staked with
sticks and rocks -- a warm blanket holding tight
the earth. A rupture in the uneven field
of concrete has lifted soil to sunlight
and so we carefully wrap it, protect
it from ill, coddle it like a newborn. Hoping
it will wait on our seedlings. Moving out
to hear it breathing, soft and steady
in the night.
Rose Marie Berger is associate editor of Sojourners.