Compulsions by David Henson

 

Image | Jeremy Bishop

Compulsions

 

I’ve told you this story many times, but you can’t hear it often enough. It begins with the day we felt a compulsion to dig — as though the earth itself had whispered to us. We dug anywhere a hole could go—yards, parks, highway medians—with every kind of shovel, but never mechanical tools. The compulsion demanded our hearts, hands and backs. 

 

We dug under sunlight, moonlight and starlight. Holes the size of teacups, buckets and bushel baskets. We dug until we were ready to drop — then took a break and dug some more. We endured blisters, strains, the occasional sliced toe. Nothing stopped us.

 

When we were running out of places to dig, the compulsion vanished. We were left in a daze, bewildered, not knowing what to do next. We didn’t have to wonder long because a compulsion to plant embraced us. 

 

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And that, my children, is how the Great Forest of the Earth was born. 

 

May you always feel a compulsion to nurture it.

© David Henson

David Henson

David Henson and his wife have lived in Brussels and Hong Kong and now reside in Illinois, USA. His work has been nominated for four Pushcart prizes and has appeared in numerous journals. His X handle is @annalou8. His website is http://writings217.wordpress.com.

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