While pulling the beets,
it’s impossible to lose faith
in the world. Those tiny seeds
that once fit in the palm are now
large red globes,
dense with dark sweetness
and heavy in the hand.
They are like promises kept,
like small proofs in patience,
confirmations that sometimes
the good that’s growing can’t be seen.
They are like hard truths.
Not everyone will want them.
Some will.
I needed to read this perfect poem and keep my own tiny seeds of patience planted. Thank you.
Laura, you are someone I think of when I think of “who is out there planting small seeds.” with your loaves of bread and your hotline service–thank you for all the practical ways you make the world flourish. I’m so grateful for you.
Ah, seeds of promise… oh how we need to believe they will grow and flourish in time to come! A beautiful poem which yields choice fruit for the soul. Thank you, Rosemerry. 😊❤️
thank you, Joy! Fruit for the soul indeed. Today, perhaps irrationally, I am feeling hopeful.
Best line EVER… They are like hard truths.
Not everyone will want them.
But some will. Some will.
Love you RWT!!!!
We’re still digging out of Hurricane Sally debris, but okay!
This poem!! Yes! Thank you! Namo!
Love and Namasté my friend
Augusta
I love you, Augusta … thinking of you as you find ways to move forward out of the storm! Thanks for being so exactly you, r
I feel the same when I look at the hundreds of zinnias that came from one little packet.
love these small proofs!