It's an uncertain breath you take after the burrowing.  Your head is covered in ground.  Your eyes are pinched shut: even in the cool shadows you can't see without squinting.  Your notice your hands, creased in dirt, and realize that they're trembling.  After being underneath for so long, you've forgotten what breathing true air is like.  Gulp it in, eyes closed, head shaking in disbelief.  The sunlight.  The freedom.  

Then a gust of salty ocean air blows you backwards.  You're grabbing the ground, grasping for the dirt that you know so well.  The depth of the blue is so big, you think, and your heart stops a little.  Glancing down at the hole after a lifetime of burrowing, you wonder, is it worth it?  The risk?  The vast, undulating blue mystery?  

Your foot is sinking back in, finding the comfort in warm soil--when a white gull flashes its wings, dives out and down.  Your heart dives with it, and out you go, down into the undulating blue mystery.  The wind rushes in your ears, and you breathe and breathe and...

Submerged, you're watching the dirt get free from you, floating separate--separate, and free.

photo by silvia mogni.