After a minute,
I take her shoes off,
socks too. She learned to walk
in winter, but now it is spring.
The fresh-turned dirt
is dark, streaked with sand
here in the bottom field,
smooth but for the little ridges
made by tractor tread.
It is the ridges that she loves
it seems – or more,
the way they crumble,
and then the crumbles
can be gathered into little piles
and the piles scooped into a cup
and then the cup –
oh great pleasure –
upturned!
And all the while,
the little bare toes,
wiggling, wiggling.
Digging in.
