Smelling the freshly turned dirt of the field behind the house, I know that Spring really is here, because the farmer has returned. Joining in the work of growing, I begin. Getting hands dirty digging into the ground, therapy, I think. Working, sifting through the damp soil, smelling the dark, green, fresh scent that is earth. Carefully looking, which small green leaves are weeds, which are to be left alone to produce wonderful, fragrant, flowing, graceful colors? Planting new life. How deep to dig the hole to place the fragile seedling in? How much water? How firm to push the soil around the plant to make sure it will thrive? Some know already, some have yet to learn.
May those who need to learn, accept it, and listen carefully to the ones who have gone before.
These are your roots.