Allotment

Sedge grass, unwanted there, it terrorized my uncle's garden, blemishing the neatly ordered rows of cauliflower and cabbage, tomatoes, beans and beets. He would till from dawn to dusk, his angled back at odds with the concision of his spade; his way of giving thanks, the Yorkshire Dales his place of worship. The ordinariness of standing water puddled, reflecting sweat and struggle. Freshly turned, the earth displayed a texture like the furrows in his face. A summer gone, and gone were lust, impatience from a young boy's mind. I brought him food and water, and urged him to seek shelter and relief; my way of giving thanks for his composure, his steadfastness, his strength.