Dirt Therapy
My physical body biked along sun-drenched asphalt while internally the psyche rode an edge wavering between rage and sorrow. Hot tears and slamming fists; any surface would suffice. The emotional storm further clashed with the blue sky's fat, puffy popcorn clouds drifting in a gentle summer breeze. It was a new moon in Cancer. And it was about a boy. Naturally. With an aggressive boot to the bike kickstand, I marched into the farm field. “What’s up?” Marcia, the agriculture guru cum personal mentor asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion like splits on overripe tomatoes. A mother of three with a penchant for unearthing both stubborn potatoes and deep-rooted feelings, she helped me sort my "spilled beans" in a bed of lettuce where I pulled weeds and words from my clenched heart, yanking out what no longer...