Earth

I was planted in tired soiled. A muddled heritage. Deep below the surface lay pot shards and decomposing roots. This ground sustained me, sure, but one day something changed. A tremor. A quake. And all of a sudden I was uprooted.

No more nutrients to soak up. No more steady land to secure myself in. For a while I wilted. A drought overcame me. No water, no food, no certainty.

Now I find myself in a new field. No more tired clay to cling to. I find new sanctuary. New stability. My roots spread out into this virgin loam. Crumbs of old soil mingle with the rich loam. There will be new life here. I lean against another, older, stronger plant. The branches spread out over me. The roots make a place for me. I slip deeper into this sheltered ground.

The first rains come and dust is rinsed from my branches. I extend myself deeper into this ground. I can find anchorage here without understanding how I got here. A fresh green shoot pierces the surface of the soil. And then another. My branches bend to embrace them. They are part of me. I am growing.