Monday, May 20, 2013


Today I burned sweetgrass incense 
while i tended the garden.  
A steady eastern wind blew— 
so I sheltered the smoking stick 
behind the old tree stump near the garden beds.  
The scent rose into the sky 
and floated through the air— 
permeating my yard— 
and the neighbors.  
It made picking weeds a ceremony.  
Something worthy of commencement.  
It brought new meaning to the dirt under my nails.

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