The Wildflowers Are Starting to Sprout
The wildflowers are starting to sprout
on the shoulders of highways,
the hills along the side of the road,
my neighbors’ yards.
Their seeds will be blown and scattered,
each one holding the potential
of all creation.
Does the flower worry about
which seeds will take root
and which will wash away with the next rain?
Does she hold them close,
not wanting to squander
the precious gifts she holds within her heart?
Or does she release,
with joyful abandon,
surrendering to the mystery of the unknowing?
More and more I remember
that the seed that is blown
from where I stand,
never to be seen again,
may very well land
and grow in someone else’s garden.