The earth is an old woman in her garden, doing the work, with dirt between her toes and fingers tipped with flowers, sugaring the land with water and laughter.
The bears bring their young here. The monarchs breed here. The wolf pups play by the river.
The sunflower was born here, and so was every other flower.
I know where the raspberry bushes are loaded and sunlight trickles through mint leaves. A pumpkin patch grows every night.
A stand of trees holds a sofa high in its branches. The old woman will sit with us and rub her feet at twilight.
Later, while the world sleeps, we'll walk the stone path into each other's lives.