When I am paying attention I find the world in my backyard
 A dense language of birdsong and weeds, seedpods and elegant sticks
The hen that lays the tiny eggs, the scrap wood near the shed, ant hills and leaf piles
This patch of land is an organism, a body, a community, a world
Fertile, dormant, shattered, remade
With small gestures and deliberate time my hands respond to this fragile alchemy of us