What I hold, What I carry

On the Eve of a Planting

It wasn’t always a Seedling, merely a Seed But I’ve carried it always, somewhere on, about me Pressed against my comfort, knotted in my rest It bruised and it turned me, like the princess on her pea.

Often, I tried to ask me, I did really want to see: What is it we have here? Why does it ache so, this vision of me? But whenever I did look, I saw with my mind and sadly, that’s all I could see, so Each time I decided, it wasn’t for me.

The Seed had a price tag and the price was too high All it was asking, was more than I was And all that is mine, was not mine to give Yet I yearned — just to hold it, just for a moment to dream.

But Tonight, on this Eve, I made a decision I chose the Seed — and picked it up It was not solid; it was not hard, not formed like a covenant nor laden like a vow

It did not ask a price of me; It asked instead that I let go of, the notion of exchange That I might make room to know of something freely given Just given to me.

It glows like a promise, and it warms me like honey It’s my blessing I’ve found, that it was never like money Never had to be earned, nor sacrificed for Was only ever a seed; a choice — to hold, or to leave, buried for me

Earlier this evening I took a leap that makes no logical or rational sense, and this is my mystery of the moment. Not the why, but the wonder itself.

I had to write something to mark the occasion for myself and I had to do it tonight (I don't know why that seemed important, but ‘mystery’ — hello).

Thank you to Trisha Traughber for the beautiful writing prompt ‘Mysteries, Doubt and Hope’: