Seed Stories

A seed is always an oak tree, my love

Just as the tree is always the seed

It is the root and stem and branch

And leafy supplication reaching out

To the sun, to the moon, to the stars

To Father Sky and the gift of raindrops

To brush fingers with low hanging clouds

To be kissed and loved above as she is below

Where the roots crawl gently penetrating

Through soft, moist earth, on, and on

And the earth gives and the roots give

In an ever-tightening embrace

And the seed is, too, the nests of bird-friends

Living so majestically high in her arms

And their morning song welcoming the

Love of the sun

And their evening song heralding the rising moon

And the seed is their love singing out

And the seed is the perfume of the rain that breaks her open

And the flood that carries her from home to home

And the ground that anchors her when she finds her road

And the upward supplication and the downward supplication

And the seed really is a hymn darling who blurs the line

Between the prayer and the beggar-man and the god

Who shines benevolently down into their eyes

And out of countless mirroring lakes that dot this sweet green Earth

And the seed is their song and their flow and the water and the air

And the light that feeds her soul

And the seed breathes you and me

And we breathe her

And she is all of us, together,

And we are her in all her lovely ways.


Image Source:┬á×500.jpg

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