Thunder grumbles from beyond the bluffs,
making me wonder whether this is really the best time
to be working on this small diversion ditch
where the switchback catches silt and soil
scoured from the upper end of the horse lot
by an uncommon rash of rains in June and July.

I am moving small clumps of crabgrass
and stashing them into the soft dirt
that I have moved to fill in a low spot
by the corner fencepost that keeps leaning inward
because of the five strands of high tensile wire
pulled taut around the perimeter of the paddock.

I set the shoots down against fresh-turned earth,
drain water from a five-gallon drywall bucket
to nurse the delicate roots of plants pried from sand
in the round pen just minutes ago.

Taking this grass I usually despise
from where it is not wanted
and putting it into a place where it is needed.

In a world of mud and thunder,
it is good to have something
to hold firm what lies underneath our feet,
lest the blessing of rain
wash away too much of all that is so sorely needed:
the dirt that feeds us and the animals we keep.

We need roots deeper than grass
and a firm grasp into something more solid than sand.

H. Arnett