The Weight of the Earth

We work the ground because we must. There is a rhythm to the turning of soil, a heavy, wet sound that stays in the ears long after the day is done. It is not a choice, but a dialogue between the hands and the mud. We disturb the stillness, and in doing so, we invite the hungry to gather. They arrive from the periphery, white shapes against the grey, waiting for what we bring to the surface. It is a cycle of necessity. We provide the labor; they provide the grace. We do not ask why the birds follow, nor why the earth must be broken to feed us. We only know that to stop is to lose the thread. The field remains, indifferent to our presence, holding the secrets of the harvest in its cold, dark depths. How much of our own life is spent simply waiting for the dust to settle?

Jim Perceval has captured this cycle in his image titled Preparing the Rice Paddy. It is a quiet study of what happens when we disturb the world. Does the earth remember the weight of our footsteps?