Daisy on burrowing

Daisy burrows into the earth. Not that it looks like that it what she is doing. She runs alongside me and still manages to push my ankles with her head. She prises open my fingers so that I will scratch her under the collar. She levers a mobile phone from my distracted grip. Do you want some attention? I say. But Daisy does not want attention. She is burrowing. Her head is strong. Her stature low. She powers herself into the world – through the wind and the mud, through the leaves and the humus. I seek that which resists my strength, she says. Her beard is full of twigs and debris. Do you think you will ever find it? I ask. But Daisy is not going to give up on that. She braces herself for the storm. She burrows.