Mattock to Earth

Pounding, regular, rhythmic blows to the Earth.
Mattock in hands, hefty to lift, easy to descend
to hit, to pound, to cut
the Earth.

I till the Earth as an excuse to vent my anger.

Ahhh, so much better to hit Her, Mother of Life,
than another.

Hit Mother Earth with our tears, our blood,
our bodies, our waste, and mattock too.
She graciously receives our All, without complaint.

Hit the Goddess’ belly, firmament, mantle
conscious all the while of the opportunity
to shift my anger, to Her.
Rather than keep it in.
Each blow by blow.

...Reflecting on tilling my Mendocino county hillside in the early 1990's; I was still angry then. I'm now not angry, just grateful...