In summertime we look for things buried in the clay. Our parents call us, but we lose their voices by digging deeper. We find arrowheads and campfire rings. Deeper, and we find Pleistocene glaciers, and past that, terrible feathered monsters. Deeper, and the town is an ocean floor. We drown as we dig until the earth is molten. We dig and burn until it crumbles to dust. We dig as the universe sucks its breath in to a single everything, and as that also fades, we dig still, like a stone into God’s own heel, to find what came before.
Photo Credit: Gnuckx