Sweat

My hands move to lace my boots

as if an unconscious affirmation

of the rising sun.

Greeted with sight

that spells familiar beginnings,

the only gift that is both

new and old.

What’s dark becomes light;

what’s cold becomes warm;

new life emanates from a place

that never slumbers.⁣

⁣

Each thrust of the shovel into the earth

inches closer toward the next.

arrested by the rhyme of toil,

by the grace of labour.

Unaware of the moment when

a soft glint transforms into

a pounding blaze.

To be suddenly drowning

in the cicadas drone.⁣

⁣

as a part of me withers,

I am reminded of my aliveness.

Slowly coerced from the inside out,

a welling up;

a pouring out.

A cascade of droplets

down my forehead

cling dearly from the tip of my nose.

Dissolving pretence;

revealing character;

a humbling mirror,

a beautiful silhouette of form.⁣

⁣

Squinting at the sun

as a silent prayer,

a deep bow to gasping for deep breaths.

Mopping the brow

as a show of gratitude,

for old dawns and new edges;

for the heaviness of sweat;

for the purity of dirt.⁣

⁣

Each thrust of the shovel into the earth

inches closer toward the next…⁣

Originally published at https://www.findingspace.co on February 19, 2021.