An Ordinary Tuesday

The other day, I woke up thinking it was a perfectly ordinary, everyday sort of Tuesday.

Except it wasn’t. Even though it was.

I asked myself: If the world is ending today, what do I want to do today, with my last day?

Hands in dirt.

It was a sunny, dry, mild kinda Tuesday.

My partner was working in our garden.

I wanted to also.

Perched awkwardly, uncomfortably, on a low stool, I clawed my way into the soil surrounding the rose bush I bought when we first moved in, the short one that grows beside the tall one a bird gifted us that following spring.

Blade by blade, I excised the grass at their bases.

The dirt was thick, rich, still cold from winter.

Pausing mid-pull, I looked up at the clear blue spring sky and wondered if this was what it was like for the last dinosaurs, too?

An everyday sort of Tuesday…