Working Through Roots

ALLEN 39 MICHAEL ALLEN WORKING THROUGH ROOTS for Sonya and Jim I work the east field in the afternoon. There is sun in the cool haze in the west. As I shovel the soft, sandy field, I can hear cedar and wUd rose, scrub oak, and the pain in the small root pores. There's a flutter of rabbit and birds to my right. I am their dream in the hot day. I am facing north on this soft hUl. The soil is grey feather and warns me that walking in this place can uncover places that have seldom been twined in sleep. I work the vineyard and am proud of the sweat in the red bandana on my forehead. I work against roots: flat-tongued prickly weed, pokeweed, poison ivy. I shovel them up, cut off the roots and feel the opening sand. I am making room for Cabernet Sauvignon. There will soon be a thousand green heads that wUl round themselves into the deepest purple. The roots are like worms, a form of love between sky and ground. Just as a river is the long way for a mountain to feed the sea. ...