© Christoffer Petersen, 2021
Then, into the stink of it,
Black fingers poised to knit
Into the earth, parting soil flesh
Past the dewed and fresh
stems of grass wet with dawn –
Onwards to finger the devil spawn
of the multi-legged carapace
rippling ribbed armour plates
distracting me from the fever
as I dig deep, deeper and deeper.
Like lots of people I rediscovered the garden during the height of the pandemic. And, through the garden, I got that bit closer to nature.