The seedlings came as braille for the sighted, asking us to see the miracle of life with the lightest touch of our souls.
The seedlings come in their pockets of soil, each of them with the natural yearning to spread their roots deep into Earth.
The seedlings grew as if each was a candle with a flame of brilliant green. They had a way of glowing, as if they took in the sunlight and gave out an entirely different kind of radiance.
In that spring earth, the seeds heard the promise of summer. The warmer days and the fine rain was the song they needed to come to life. And so, as they warmed and drank the fine heaven-given drops, they grew to give of themselves to the world.
The seedlings had a perfect beauty. Each came from a seed the colour of shined mahogany, the size of perhaps half an ant. Yet within a few days they were an inch tall or more, deep green cotyledons upon a white wand stem, waving in the breeze.
From a tiny seed comes a plant, roots reaching for mama earth and the leaves stretching tall for the sun. I wonder if to that seedling, the sunlight feels the same as love to a child, infusing them with the energy to thrive and grow. I wonder if that warmth and steady glow feels the same as a smile from one beloved. Perhaps the rain is quenching, washing them clean, accepting them into this world however they are. As if all of nature is urging them to be bold, strong, vibrant.
The seedlings, after so long asleep, wake. Their leaves, at first pale, infuse with green. The stems that emerged unaware of direction, reach for the sunlight together. Tara watches with the pride of a mother, as they become a community of plants, vibrant and strong.
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