The rain falls, in the form of letters and drenches my life story into the garden soil beneath your feet. Flourishing roots that are not visible to the naked eye. These roots lay in my chest. Filled with dictionaries in languages I have attempted to remember over the years.

The water drizzled into my stem.
A moment I'll never forget. a moment of growth. That I peeled back the curtains of all the soil hiding my best ability to stand tall. My knees straightened up and let the blood come back to the atom bomb I hold my chest.

Spouting my arms open wide. The letters melting off my fingertips and I to this solem piece of paper. Spelling out words of life that started from the root of my being.

Reproducing a cycle of seasons. Seasons of grown and seasons of molting. Each and every year I find myself to have a new skin. One different from the last.

This is how I know I am still growing. When I sprout I refuse to grow into something already present. I will magnify myself into something rare. Never before have I seen it.

I refuse to let the soil of these seasons determine my biology. I will photosynthesize to remember that I need to soak in the moment. That today I will grow and not stand still.