# 3 - Dirt 11:07PM

I have many plants around my house. They're growing in different types of dirt. Some of it is heavy, filled with manure and dense organic matter. For other plants, they deal better with light weighted soil, which I mix with wood chips and other debris.

In one plant near my desk, I see the spent ends of matches. At some point, I lit a candle with a match, and haphazardly used the soil to extinguish the fiery flame; the heat was too great to leave alone, instead it needed a substrate, a soft familiar surface to plunge into.

When I look into the soil I see complex patterns. Dark brown, light brown, even some beige and off white colors. I can see the vague patterns of webs. There are possibly mycelium growing in the dirt, just waiting for the right moment to shine. A thick mushroom head could erupt through and out of this dirt at any moment.

On the other hand, maybe it's just dormant. With dirt it's hard to tell. It's placid and forgiving, full of life yet seemingly dull.

Now I look out my window and see dirt too. Not the same dirt. Different. Damp and pliable from the mid-winter thaw. I could step in the dirt outside and leave a print. It could freeze overnight and tomorrow I'd see my mark.

The dirt seems uncaring. Sometimes these additives (like the match sticks) can be a boon. They break down over time, and integrate themselves with the soil; the soil becomes more than itself. Other times though, it's a receptacle. It takes what you give it.

I like to imagine the dirt is aware, not uncaring.