Tiller | by A'Ja Lyons

On an acreage where mounds of fertile soil rested, a tiller toiled. Her labor was not that of a roustabout. Unlike hands wielding metal weaponry and piercing the earth she came with reverence. At winter’s thaw and spring’s glisten she approached flora ready to flourish. Turning over and breaking up soil is vital for sod in need of nutrients. Working in soil with an excess of moisture present can cause compression and form barriers to moisture dispersal. Dry and compacted soil must be broken up to open up and revive.

Breaking up does not mean breaking down. The soil fertile, but a disruption in energy depleted nutrients and unbalanced the ecosystem. Gnats swarmed. Woody invasives had overtaken and their gnarly roots settled deep.

The tiller spoke to release that which the soil did not need, unwanted roots and weeds. She lay beside the dirt. Her face in the topsoil, she spoke in a tender whisper and the earth softened. With a gentle hand the tiller loosened that which had been compacted and brought forth water and provided nourishment. She unfurled the grip of the intruding infection without force or firearm. No chemical compound used to pry and remove that which did not salve the soil. It was with a whisper she called the foreign life form to release its hold. Her hushes called for healing where for years there had not been sunlight, food, or growth.

Vines lengthened in gratitude. Earth rumbled in reply. New moisture enriched the soil and revived that which had been left to rot.

Dear Earth, dear Sun. It is by the light and soil that we are gifted life. In the darkness we met, having called without voicing. Starved was our skin of light making our blood as slow moving as a languid stream and bones weakened as a brittle Basswood tree long lacking replenishment.

Our season began when the earth shifted away from the light. Water became snow and ice and life lay in repose. Elliptical movements of two bodies dynamic, barycenter of skin seeking satiety. We sat in the stillness beyond peace – an ache restless and ravaging.

To learn to listen and speak valiantly. So that cries may call forth warm waters. We spoke. Heard. Listened. Learned. In the silence where the temperature had fallen and flesh came together.

Hungry mouths consumed words unspoken holding the deep air. We grew together not in soil but our waters. Pooled in mouths and cupped in hands – we were safe to again be seedlings, swell, expand and emerge anew. Cotyledons reached for light shakily as we grew and re-learned our limbs. Bathing in waters and basking in the softness of leaves.

A'Ja Lyons is a contributing editor at Medusa Rising.

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