07 May 2005



We made plows and raised oxen to pull them. In our wisdom we worked the ground, harnessing it to our will. We gave thanks for the food we ate from the seeds we sowed. Creatures who lived in the dark world under the surface spoke to us. Thanks for the roots, they said, and welcome home. We've saved a place for you. Those few of us who understood the words attempted to return the greeting. Most of us, hearing only gibberish, scratched our heads and stamped our feet, sending up tiny bursts of dust that settled back on our shoes.


Very nice images. Reminds me of my conversations with the moles who used to aerate my garden--and destroy quite a bit of it. They stopped once I sat down and talked with them.
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