Seeding My Own Dreams

I took this little seed.  Well, maybe ‘little’ is a misnomer, compared to other seeds.  Comparatively, I am sure this would be considered a large seed.  In my hand, however, it seems so small, much smaller than I am.

I held the seed in my hand and whispered my secrets against its skin.  I told it my dreams, my wishes.  I spoke of my failures, my set-backs.  I told him of my pride and joy, my family.  I whispered tales of forest trails and river treks, of hopeful future plans.

I went out; I bought a special pot for my very special seed.  I painted little designs along the sides of the planter.  I filled it up with premium dirt, taken from my compost bin, ripe with rabbit leavings and trash decomposed into the most fertile earth I could find.  With care, with murmured prayers, I slid the seed in, wrapped it up tight beneath a blanket of dirt.  I added a bit of water, enough to get things incubating.  I left it to its birth.

I didn’t really think all that much about it for a week or two after that.  Of course, I made sure to add water to the mix, once a week, when I watered every other plant in the house, but I didn’t really pay it all that much attention.

Now and then I would catch myself, staring in its direction, my mind racing a million miles away, speeding off on horseback, while in reality I was stuck in my dray city life.  About the tenth or twentieth time I caught myself drifting away, enjoying life in my mind more than in my own body, I started to talk to the seed again.

Once or twice a day, I would sit down, my lips close to the side of the pot, and I would speak from my heart.  Often I would sit there for fifteen or twenty minutes, wishing away, hoping with all my heart, dreaming and praying, knowing there was nothing the little seed could do.  Yet, it made me feel better to speak, to get all my feelings out.

I never thought of what that seed might be enduring, listening to all my endless talk, my vapid chatter.

The seed sprouted overnight, while I was asleep, while I was far from watching.  When I awoke in the morning, it was not a tentative little stalk peeking out of the soil that I saw.  She was a proud tall finger of a plant, reaching up high into the sunlight.  She had six inches of stem and you could see she was still growing.  Her color twisted from an almost white green into a darker yellowy green as she reached up taller.  Indeed, I had to sit and visit with her, to congratulate her, to shower her with love and attention.  This time I spoke of her future, of my dreams for her, of where one day I hoped to plant her, so she could sink her roots into Mother Earth and shoot up into the sky, straight and angular and happy, producing fruits to feed our family, as well as many animal families that there may wander.

Hours later, the first leaf showed, tiny but strong; it slowly unfurled.  By evening, there were three leaves, one larger than the others.  I could see buds forming where new leaves would soon sprout forth.

It was later that night, after I had bid her good night, after I had slid under my own comfortable blankets, as I slipped off out of sight, that I first heard her voice, humming against my ear drums, telling me of her dreams for me, her visions for me.  I smiled, feeling safe, listening to the sage advice of the one who offered my guidance.

I had planted my own prayer tree.  Now it was answering my prayers.  How lucky can this woman be?

Prompt from the SoulFood Alphabet, brought to you by the letter B

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http://onthewrongsideofthemirror.wordpress.com/