Seed

~ Seed as noun and verb ~

"I spend most of my time listening instead of writing. 

A shard of language might come: a phrase, a word, 

an anagram, and I’d just keep it in my pocket, 

like a little seed, warming in my fist.”― Ocean Vuon

source

Seed as a noun: We've made such cliches out of truisms like "From a small acorn a mighty oak does grow," that the mystery inside them is lost.  But, how is it possible for small seeds to hold such big things?  Little seeds of ideas, of brain-washing, of faith, etc., also grow into big things--happily or unhappily.  

Seed as a verb: Many things, including seeds, can be seeded widely with the help of neighbors, birds, wild animals, classrooms, ministers, etc. 

SEEDS.  Maybe you start them indoors and transplant them, maybe they are in the ground gaining strength all winter. Maybe they are in each of us. Maybe we cook with and eat seeds.

What do you hope will grow?

Examples of where "seed" might take you:

The Seed is in the Ground 

by Wendell Berry

The seed is in the ground.

Now may we rest in hope

While darkness does its work.

Growing Apples

By Nancy Miller Gomez

There is big excitement in C block today.

On the window sill,

in a plastic ice cream cup

a little plant is growing.

This is all the men want to talk about:

how an apple seed germinated

in a crack of damp concrete;

how they tore open tea bags

to collect the leaves, leached them

in water, then laid the sprout onto the bed

made of Lipton. How this finger of spring

dug one delicate root down

into the dark fannings and now

two small sleeves of green

are pushing out from the emerging tip.

The men are tipsy with this miracle.

Each morning, one by one,

they go to the window and check

the progress of the struggling plant.

All through the day they return

to stand over the seedling

and whisper.

Touch-me-nots by Mary Oliver

The touch-me-nots
Were still blooming,
Though many had already gone to seed—
Jewel of weeds, orange, beloved
Of the hummingbirds
For their deeply held sweets,
And the ripe pod, when touched
So quick
To open and high-fly
Its seeds into the world.
I was walking
Down a path
Where they grew, succulent and thick
In the damp earth near
A stream, when I saw a trap
With a little raccoon inside,
Praying,
As it felt, over and over,
The mesh of its capture,
And I had time—
Just time—
To stumble down to the stream, and open the trap
And say to the little one:
Run, run
And the little one flew—
I did not touch him—
And climbed high into a tree.
And then I too, knowing the world,
Ran through the jewel weeds
As someone, unknown and not smiling
Came down the path to where
The trap lay, stamped upon
By my very own feet,
And while I ran, the touch-me-nots
Nodded affirmatively
Their golden bodies—
I could not help but touch them—
And dashed forth their sleek pods,
Oh, life flew around us, everywhere.

❤❤❤ 

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