Just Dirt

In the stone cold, dust bathed yard
the grinding, creaking, 
complaining mixer ceases.
Silence.
Then, it is replaced with
Slap! Slap! Slap!
Wet and cold
on cold and hard.
Splat! Smack!
Clay is thrown,
forced, abused.
But oh! how it enjoys it.
Back aches,
muscles strain,
transforming dust to clay.
Just dirt,
but so much more.
Cool, smooth, ancient.
It waits for hands.
Strong hands,
purposed hands
exhert force,
prepare it for use.
Slam! Whack! Whir!
Clay on wheel
Pedal down
Wheel spins, and hands,
strong hands
still hands
shape, guide, form.
At their touch it moves.
Conformed.
Slick, sticky, soft
it takes a shape,
a personality
and a purpose.
Dust to clay,
clay to stone.
Transformed.
This is a new form, but ancient
and endless.