Children of the Flame

Hands in soil as we toil.  Labor intent on solving hunger and thirst.  All spare ground newly found and used to farm.  To mend. Roofs turned into nurseries.  Muscles tense.  Tendons enhanced.  Working hard for this, our second chance.

Time is transient.  One day moves into another amended only by the seasons.  All movement set by the moon as the days swoon.  Swelling, breathing, heat, humidity, moisture balloons.  This rhythm universal.  In sync with nature’s lot.

iThink of the time when iCould watch movies from my father’s iPad.  Images like magic telling stories all day.  iTouched everything.  The world was at my finger tips.  All knowledge known, shared and feared.  For we did not know where our food came from.

iRemember all these things as if they were a dream.  Sitting in our kitchen picking food from a cold metal box.  Cooking over an instant fire.  Sifting through the food we forgot.  Throwing out what had rot.

Tendons tense.  Muscles enhanced.  Sweat rolls off the body down to the ground, where it will help with the plants we raise.  Where each drop of energy is part of a phase.  This coming and going.  This working for eating. For a good life is worth living.  Hard and lean we continue our toiling.  For we have not forgotten from which we came.  The children of the flame.