MY LIFE AS A SHOVEL

My handle is made of ash, my body of shiny steel. I stand here on this earth. What am I to do?
An instinct tells me to dig, to find space, to excavate a footing. This I will do bit by bit onward and a little at a time. A downward thrust a levering a loosening. My body full… the weight of the earth then to be to be flung to the winds. I make an endless line, a circle. Round I go, deeper and deeper at each pass. The earth getting more compact as I slice through the layers of time. I reach a depth where no frost may penetrate. Yet deeper still I channel, to be certain. A level is found where the earth has grown so compressed that not even my silver sharp tongue can penetrate. The time to climb out and view my work is at hand.
I look down and see straight walls, sharp, crisp inside corners. Nothing must sway with-in. I look to my side. I see sand, cement, aggregate and water. The sand came from the sea, its grains now only memories of erosion. Cement:- made by man crushed to powder, from cliffs of old. Aggregate:- crushed stone too, but of granite and not so fine. Showing a grading of size from plum down to pea. Water:- the same as at the beginning of time. This chaos of elements must be mixed together bonding the particles as one. A muddy mix of grey shimmering matter. Composed now and mouldable, compatible for forming shapes that have meaning. The sticky cement powder now a paste a joiner a binder.
I toss this concoction back and forth, stabbing, turning, aggravating and assisting the bond. Making sure that all the hard substances are surrounded with the tacky goo.
Satisfied I toil again. Throwing this heavy pudding into the trench. Hearing the hollow thump echo to the skies, waking up feelings of contentment with-in me. The channel fills. This mould has justified its-self.
I must now jump in too to poke and vibrate fast and hard. Releasing the air bubbles trapped in this compound. In so doing strengthening and lengthening its life. A last task must be completed. For neatness’ sake. I tamp and level and smooth its surface flat, then leaving this toilsome venture while it goes concrete hard for eternity.
I stand back and scrutinise my labour. I wonder at its significance. Why and what have I done here?
The answer! A foundation on a bed rock so that trust and love can be built upon. The plant work for upward growth, always reaching for the light!
I am happy as I go to the lake to wash myself off of this clean dirt. For I will be needed again. There are barren gardens awaiting flower bulbs to be planted!

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