Rachel Winner '09
Bare feet connect me to the earth.
This morning's lecture on deforestation in the Amazon
the piles of books on religious violence teetering on the corner of the desk
beneath my dark green mug waiting impatiently to be filled with steaming coffee for a long evening
and the graphs and charts of simulative monetary policy from last night's homework
all dissipate as I step from the truck and the sun beats into my back
Swirling specks of the land stick to my eyelashes
Like rose colored glasses.
The smells of sweet grass, and raw brown age and youth spiral by
trap me in nostalgia for this moment.
The world stops spinning out of control
and I cradle the next generation of life in my palm
place the seed deep into the soil's womb to protect it from the chaos for just a few months more.
I let my whole body sink down into the loamy earth, mingling with the hay and clods
And watch it all drift by for a time
The silence breaks subtly as the sheep bleat off in the distance, persuading me to continue with my task.
We smooth over the soil
And water swirls over the plots of freshly impregnated earth
A soft shade of rust fills in the crevices of my fingerprints
We are connected - my identity and hers.
My hope. Her future.