From Dust to Dust

We were sitting in the dirt of our newly roto-tilled flower bed, butts black with the soft soil. Sifting through the earth and removing the clumps of grass was a chore but it had to be done so that our new roses would have as little competition for resources as possible.

The sound of birds and squirrels chattering with each other was in competition with kids down the street riding their bikes and playing with chalk on the sidewalk.

"I never knew I liked this so much," Ali said. "It makes me feel so peaceful. It's like I'm right where I'm supposed to be."

We went back to silently sifting. Our feet, hands and sit-upons were firmly set in the medium from which we had come and the state to which we will eventually return. Sitting there on that late spring afternoon we were touching the stuff from which our bones are made. We were handling the decomposition of other life that is vital to the success of life to come after.

It was the the junction where human past meets human future.

It was a small glimpse of the holy.