It is the seed moon,
the time of sowing.
The roads and skies
have grown quiet.
Sometimes in the stillness
I can feel the earth dreaming.
There are many things I can't do
in these strange times.
But I can plant seeds.
I hold them like prayers
in the palm of my hand,
I notice their shape and size,
the way they catch the light.
Their impossible promise.
I teach my children
to make wishes on them -
and I make wishes too.
I breathe my brightest,
most golden dreams
into these seeds,
dreams wild as sweet violets
on hidden forest floors.
Poppy, nasturtium, sunflower and sage:
bring nectar, food and medicine,
praise the sun.
Corn, squash, tomato and bean:
seeds of hope
for the creatures
and the wild places
and all those yet to come.
May this great pause
be a seed itself
for the beautiful future
which wants and waits to be born.
I think anyone who says
that miracles aren't possible
must not have planted seeds.
