Outside, the women bore holes in soil, sprinkling potential into plots made ready.
Inside, men arrange field rock and yard gravel around drainage ports.
Outside, fields nurture dying seeds, bringing life from boring insignificance.
Everywhere, family and field, cultivated and wild, wake in the wetness and warmth.
We look out, broad and wide, and look close, wondering at the intricate.
The paradox of life invites us, to groan and glory in this mystery of hope.