The soil

I mean really, and not because I am an archaeologist. And in fact I do not fancy gardens and all this gardening stuff… but there is something in the soil.

Therapeutic.

You touch it and feel it. This strength, power, possibilities. It is so much different, than when working in internet. I mean really! Planted ground looks so good, cleaned from weds, with fresh seedlings… it screams: good job. I do not feel it when writing or painting. Somehow… the soil always smiles, and pats my arms.

Even, as today, I am in crazy pain, I love the soil. Even if it is just a driveway which I cleaned, still… works for me.

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Is it only me, or there is a primal feeling, something in our trashy DNA, what tells us, that working with soil is the most precious. The best? Or maybe there is something in this soil? Dark or brown, or mixed. Black, or sandy, with this deep smell of the past giving birth to the future… So simple, so complicated…

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