and slowly puts in his seed.
And waters and waits..
The seed is little, fragile and needs
his tender care.
This years small crop
waiting to come forth.
His hands remind me of his Papa Bears
hands when they tended to the dirt.
Loving the way the dark soil felt between his
fingers and knowing the dark stuff brings
Her skirt giving to the wind.
Her boots dirty from the days work.
She pushes down the earth
and up comes a handful of worms
from beneath. He would tell us
our soil is healthy because of those worms.
He would love to be here now.
The seconds before spring.
Things to do like till the earth,
order his seeds, and survey his land.
Tractor running and his mind running with
the possibilities of this years garden.
The bigger the better was his thoughts
and he did big always.
He is gone and yet he's here
in his grandchildren.
Never letting them forget
he's the reason we live here.
He's the reason we dig in dirt
He will never be forgotten.
So as the seconds before spring
count down I remember my
father-in-law Sherman White.
I sit on his land the land he gave
my family, his family,
knowing that he would love to be
here if he could.