Seed

Out in my secret place this cool morning, the sun comes slant and soft, plays upon my skin and the myriad leaves that tremble. The yard is wild— tall grass, field grass thick with seed and the edges of the place flecked with purple spike flowers, pert buttercups. Forsythia bend, unruly, and dandelions puff with seeds waiting for the wind. Raspberries have overtaken the raised beds and blueberries in flower are pushing towards sweet seed.

On every side, there is birdsong and the rustle of leaves. The swing hangs empty, moved only by the breeze. And somehow I feel like a child again, ready to lie down on my belly, look at the world through grass arches, ready to open my soul to Your seed and your Spirit which waits, poised. A seed head on a slim, smooth stem.