Digging

I was digging deep in my garden,

turning over clods of soil and

noticing what was buried in the dark, damp earth.

Little treasures—a piece of broken clay,

old weed sheeting,

and the worms,

so many worms,

wriggling to escape the light

and dive back into darkness.

If I dig deep into my history,

what will I discover?

What nuggets will be unearthed?

Would I see these fragments of my life as treasures and

rejoice in their discovery?

Or would I wish they would wriggle back down into the depths?

I could tell you a story of something buried

being dug up,

something hidden being revealed.

I could tell you of seeds planted deep,

craving sunlight,

stretching up toward the open sky,

toward freedom.

Secrets break through like seedlings,

fragile, yearning to be noticed and nurtured.

All gardens need to be turned over

to prepare the ground for new growth.

Cultivate openness, nurture trust, let the light in.