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Grieving the miscarriage of my first pregnancy at the somewhat late age of 36, July 30th, 2000, the day after accepting the opportunity to help people clear weeds from a beautiful vegetable garden in Connecticut, I visited Kripalu and was given an exercise to write a poem in about fifteen minutes. It turned out to be very healing to link the hope of preparing the ground for planting, with believing that I dared to try to become pregnant again, to dare to ask my husband to risk going through the agony of grieving another pregnancy.

As it turns out, a year later - to the exact day - I gave birth to my son! I realized this just now, when this photograph of gloriously muddy feet made me search for the journal I was using then.

"Late, late spring."

I stand with my bare feet in rich, dark dirt,
Wriggling my toes gratefully.
Grateful for this late, late spring opportunity
To sow a seed.

A seed of an unknown plant
That I will nurture anyway
So I can just count the leaves
and marvel at their shape
And just notice the stem
and appreciate its support and its direction
And just discover buds swelling, joyfully,
to colourful bloom and fragrance
And just wonder at the roots
That wiggle too
In this rich, dark dirt.

I didn't hear the SOF program that goes with the photo, and choose not to listen to it until after I have posted this poem. I know I haven't answered the challenge of "What title would you have given it?". But if one person who needs hope is encouraged, however accidentally, by reading it, then I think that it will have done great work.

As I write, my son is away; camping for three nights with my husband and a band of Cub Scouts, so for the first time since his birth I am experiencing life without daily contact with him. I realize that for all the relief I was feeling at some time to myself, I am still focussing on him, and looking forward to holding him in my arms again! It is great for the mother of an eight-year-old boy to be reminded how much they longed for this person to come in to being. This poem was spiritual for me because it was about accepting the uncontrollable and the unknown, and because it expressed my gratitude and wonder.

I stand with