Clear the pine straw, brush away the leaves, expose bare earth
But not quite bare
A tiny acorn
A dot of a snail shell
Three ants
The tip of something green
I dig with my fingers to reveal what lies beneath
One pine cone scale
A thread of a root.
I trace it back to
The tip of the something green
What can’t I see? What is too minute for my limited vision?
Microscopic insects
Fungal filaments
Grains of sand
A seed from a dandelion
There’s a world down there that I am unaware of, barely noticing
I tread upon its surface
My monstrous feet
Fall like thunder
Smashing what lies atop
Quaking this below-world
***
Clear away the busyness, the mindless scrolling, expose myself
But not quite my Self
A lassitude
Ragged breaths
Leaden limbs
A solitary teardrop
I excavate deeper to reveal what lies beneath
Nostalgia and longing
A misunderstanding
Slights that might be oversights
Negligence
What can’t I see? What am I too blind to see?
An internal glowing ember
Obscured by the scars
From woundings over time.
It is burning still, my true Self
There’s a world inside I want to unmask,
Closed as it is in my snail shell of a heart
So now I choose to dance lightly
A pas de duex with my Self,
Face to the sun, its warmth coaxing forth
The Soul of my child-self
So that I might unfurl into something green
Renée Brown Harmon, MD
April 29, 2026