There are more organisms, living in a teaspoon of rich, healthy soil, than humans in this world, research has found. I can’t tell you how “healthy” has been defined, or how rigorous the research was, but either way, I find it wonderful. Humble, not so humble, dirt.
And then there’s dust. Since learning that it’s made from cells of human skin—and, according to one study, also paint, pollen, fibres, minerals, mould; hair and viruses and ash and soot; insect body parts, bacteria, material, bits of soil—I see it differently. It contains traces of families, history, life. It’s almost sacred when you think of it this way. And isn’t it, poetically, from dust and dirt we came?