A Letter from Your Little Seed

It was spring.

Soft floral breeze,

gentle kisses of the sun

and mornings that smelled like dew.

I looked below.

Rough open sea

tilted at a cruel angle.

Framed from the edge of a cliff.

Why here?

“Because it was sturdy,” the flower answered.

I looked at her legs.

Teetering on the rough edges.

Roots digging,

holding on despite harsh winds.

Barely.

But holding on nonetheless.

I didn’t come alone.

There were others

soft and tender, swaying along me

to the tune of the wind.

Summer came.

With it, cold harsh rains.

“It’s alright,” said the flower.

“You weren’t raised in plush meadow.”

No.

We were raised with grit,

sand and stones.

So that one day,

no ground could deny our roots.

Summer came

and summer went.

Winter passed,

then another spring.

Some took off and flew,

leaving for their brand new home.

“Because they should,” said the flower.

I didn’t get it.

But summer came

and summer went.

Winter passed,

then another spring.

More left with the wind.

Was it my time soon?

“Maybe,” the flower said.

But why?

You had flown this far,

grown so hard,

tender roots clawing stones—

not for us to leave.

“Oh little seed,” said the flower.

“Roots weren’t meant to tether.

They were meant to nourish and grow

so you could fly higher.”

What good was a bird’s-eye view

when I was at a hunter’s crossfire?

“What good was a hunter’s crossfire

when the world was still mine to see?”

It would be my turn next year.

I could hear the wind calling me.

And “ready” never came.

I didn’t think it ever would.

“It’s alright, little seed.

For wherever you’re going,

we are standing on the same ground

looking at the same sky.”

“And no matter how grown you get,

you will always be my little seed—

grown on the harsh, rugged cliff,

and no soil will ever reject you.”