One with the Earth

Sophie Carbone

Weight

Limbs are light. Weightless. Stripped bare and washed clean. Covered by earth, wood and grass, there is no fear. Only peace. Nestled in my own cocoon. Skin and organs untouched by chemicals, nothing but my true self left to connect with the earth. Wait. Waiting for time to pass. Not as I once waited, but a new kind of waiting. A communal waiting.

For there is another waiting. Up above. Far from me. As Winter spreads out its blankets of snow, ready for a long sleep, so too does this woman sleep. A knitted hibernation of her own making, waiting to emerge when her feelings are as numb as the frosted world beyond the steamed panes of glass around her. Immune to the lush warm greenery that surrounds her, she sleeps. Knowing the bright spots of red that await her outside, she instead chooses to stay there until Spring when she may once again lay in her proper place. Lay beside me.

It was the last time that green shoots and budding flowers came up that the idea struck Amelia. Staring into the speckled oval mirror. The flecks of toothpaste smeared across it will now come from only one toothbrush instead of two. Through it Amelia is still able to see her dark attire: a black dress with its high collar. A bruise that spreads throughout her body, reverberating through her head, reminding her of her one monumental task of the day. Keeping her eyes shut as she drifts through the bathroom, into our shared bedroom, and out into the upstairs hallway. She lets the sounds of the living room wash over her, the bustle of people, the abundance of strawberry rhubarb, all I craved in my last days at the hospital, it’s just too much to bear. She takes the time to assure herself: She only has to live until next Spring. Then it can all be laid to rest. First, however, I must be laid to rest.

With the flutter of cherry blossoms, under dappled sunlight, I am carried to a patch prepared just for me. Just like I always planned, 2 years into our marriage, ever since we got the dreadful news. Veiled in my shroud, we float towards that final altar of earth. Hands clasped, heads bowed, prayers whispered. How easy it would be, she thinks, to follow me, let the dirt cover us both all at once. Vows never to be broken. No. Not yet. Wait until next Spring. Wait. For them.

Parasites

As I am enveloped by nature I begin to break down. There is no pain, only peace. This is right. I may not break down at the same rate as the others, but I will get there in time. One right after the other. As I let nature do its work I begin to shed my old skin of the upper world and come into the new skin of the lower. I am cushioned by this new place as my body changes and begins anew. Bones lay nestled like jewels, waiting to go into that final process. That final moment of complete immersion with the earth around me.

The in-laws want her to plant strawberries. My favorite. Amelia says no. There’s no one to eat them anymore.

“It’s not to eat,” they say. As the tired leaves of Fall crunch underfoot, she thinks of my patch. “They won’t last”, she tells them, “It’s not the right season.” “Give it a thought”, they say. She doesn’t. “Will you plant them today?”, stakes its claim in the guest bedroom. “Maybe you’ll plant them tomorrow. ” stretches out towards the living room and takes a seat on the couch. “They’ll die.” Amelia insists from inside our room.“Why don’t you give it a try?” creeps up the stairs softly in the night, but is still loud enough to stick to her dreams. Kicking up a fuss.

Until they come. Bright red and green amidst the dried crackling leaves and ever darkening sky. Strawberries. Right on my patch. “See, not too hard.” wraps around her shoulders, they refuse to leave. This will not do. How can she tell them this was not her doing?

The strawberries will wilt surely, Amelia thinks. Frozen over by the oncoming cold snaps or ripped from its infant roots by the whipping wind outside. Yet they persist. Pushed to stay in the greenhouse to continue her investigation, the glaring red orbs keep Amelia up at night. Perhaps they are aliens sent to pester her. Taunting her. Acting as meager place holders for the one she has lost. The plump red fruit is so very much alive, while I am….

Frozen

There is nothing to feel as tiny pinpricks begin to appear within my bones. This is meant to be. There is no horror in watching the diminishing of myself. For I am giving back. For all the times this earth has been used up, I will finally be used myself. With this loving and careful process I give myself up to nature, to become one with it. The worms, bugs that crawl over me now are only part of the process. They are here to aid in my journey. To help push towards that final stretch of transformation. For what would I be if not for this earth and these living animals surrounding us? Is it not only right to nourish the body that nourished ours for centuries? Does she know what she has made me now that I am where I belong? What am I able to produce now?

Her time in the cocoon is almost done. A perfect sleep if not for what torments her outside. Everyday, everynight. The wind rattles the greenhouse, echoing inside her head. She can last no more. Unraveling herself from the inside, she takes a step towards the door. One final push and she will be free. With a whoosh of frigid air she steps onto the snow. The ice crunching against her feet, the crystals digging in. The strawberries glow ahead of her, the only source of light in this darkened world. The infernal beacon, never ceasing. Always growing. The icy grip around Amelia’s bare feet finally brings her to her knees. The thin nightgown only soaks up the snow around it. The fresh playful scent of strawberries stings her nose. No more. With a determined hand she begins to tear at the leafy plant. It wiggles against her, but will not budge. Gritting her teeth she continues to pull, but the stalks are slick. She pulls a strawberry or two with her as her hand slips. Even in this bitter cold the fruit is perfectly ripe and soft in her palm. Now there’s an idea…. Amelia resorts to mashing. Her frozen feet can no longer feel what’s underneath them, but she knows it isn’t working. They roll, they bounce away from her. She stamps and stamps. Her feet are reddening, but certainly not with strawberries. Her hands grip her hair as she screams. Just let it happen tonight. This was the last task to complete. The. One. Last. Thing. The last thing she needed to snuff out before she did too.

Eternal

I am entering the final stages. That old journey was long, but I am eager to begin this new one. I am ready. So many possibilities, how could I not take this chance to begin again? There is ripple through me as the world

begins to shift.

A presence that is felt.

Someone is here.

Someone has been waiting for this moment.

Just like we have.

Suddenly, there are hands where my hair used to be.

Where a head and eyes used to be.

It is not painful.

I am something new now.

There should be no mourning.

I am given the chance to start over. At this very moment I feel I am being

Lifted

from the cocoon and into the light.

Ready to start again.

In loving hands I travel.

Enveloped in a warm embrace,

I am taken everywhere.

In my present form I can be everywhere,

all at once.

No matter where I am scattered I will always be connected to her.

Through the earth I am connected not only to those long gone but those still living.

Those that still breathe should not mourn me,

for as they depended upon and loved me in life,

they may continue to do so in my death.

My nutrients and my love willingly given to the earth may continue to nourish and bring about new life in my own way.

Scattered. and begin to settle

into this new place I begin my

new life.

Sleeping. A bird chirps. Wind rustles. Awake. The winter storm, now long gone. No more hiding. It’s time to get up. The day is here. Finally allowed back in the house once they found her in the snow. She couldn’t get away that easy. Looking at the dappled sun on the bedspread, feeling her toes wiggle on the carpet, perhaps that was a good thing. Gripping the curtain she allows one peek into the back garden, they’re still there. Shimmering in the sunlight they must be at the peak of freshness. On light feet, Amelia tip toes down the stairs, sliding the glass door back with a gentle wssshhhh. She lets the sun ease her creaking bones, as the grass tickles her toes. She allows herself a deep breath before heading towards my patch. She will do this. The earth is hot against her bare feet, but she likes it. It lets her know she’s still here. Spurred on by the heat of the sun, she finally comes to kneel in front of the glowing fruit. This time will be different. Her thin fingers brush against the seeded skin. Her thumb cushions against it as she plucks, one, two, three, from the stalks. They sit in her palm, waiting. There’s no more time for that. She puts the ripest looking one to her lips and takes a bite.