As I was digging my two fruit tree holes late this evening I focused on my breathing and my arm and shoulder muscles. I focused on the rhythm of breathing and the rhythm of lifting and lowering the shovel into the deepening and widening holes. I was surprised how enjoyable the activity became. It wasn't work. It was living. Living, breathing, moving. The sound of the spade slicing through the dark rich soil. The clank of metal against rock. The thud of the blade hitting a root.
A movie was happening in that hole. I watched the faceting sides of the inner hole change, evolve, and disappear as the shovel rose, sliced, and lifted out the loose dirt. The sky filled the hole like an inverse diamond. I was creating wealth in the world. I was creating wealth in my body. Oxygen was feeding my lungs, my muscles and my brain. My mind.
I became a young boy watching my father dig holes. I saw the rapt attention on his face as he lifted and sank the spade into the dark Iowa earth. I saw him smile as he lifted shovel full after shovel full out and tipped it into the grass. I saw him watching his father do the same. I became three people that I knew. I was son, father, and grandfather.
Looking up into the Confederate Sky as I rested I listened to the approaching thunder and sometimes saw a flash of light behind the bluegray clouds. Patches of darkness seem to slither behind their edges. The breeze became cooler as I stood watching, breathing, smiling. Life is good. Life is grand. The apples will taste extra sweet. And my smile will travel deep when my grandbaby takes her first bite.
