Poetry to Grow On

Growing Patience
     By Vicki Dawn Arnett

I am a seed
     a little seed
     of thoughtful endurance     
     and strength
     and fortitude
     and yet, compassion,
buried just below the surface.

Alone, I wait.

It is cold
     dark
     dreary
     while I wait

alone

     and the weight
from above rests heavily on me.

What is that I feel?
     It is warmth.
     Something inside me vibrates,
     loosens my walls.
I stretch and reach for more warmth,
     but also anchor myself
     'round a tiny grain of sand.

My eyes are opened
     so now I see
     the glorious light,
     heater of my heart,
     stirrer of my soul.
I watch, in wonder, its trek across the sky.
     It is dark and cold again. 
     Once more, I am

alone.

     What happened?
     Where did my light, my warmth, go?
My head drooped, and weary,
     I rested.

While I rested, I heard a cry,

"You are not alone!"

     I reached farther down,
     down below the surface
     through moist soil
     clinging to bits of sand
     for comfort
     peace
     strength
and when yesterday was but a dream,
a finger of light caressed the sky.

Joyfully, with all the world,
     I wept
     dewy drops upon my brow,
     magnifying the light's gentle touch.
     I stretched to meet the sun,
     to join his journey again,
     but today, it wasn't to be.
A curtain pulled across the sun;
I could not see his smiling face.

I shivered and dug deeper down,
     down into the earth,
     her silence somehow comforting
     and in the stillness, 

I waited.

Light faded,
     faded dimmer
     as the curtain thickened
     and no trace of his journey permeated.
A chilly wind swept the land.
I resisted it with all my strength;
     still it persisted.

And then came the storm.

Quick flashes of light
     roared through the sky.
The wind whipped at me;
     hail mixed with rain pelted me
     and pushed me to the ground.
Rivulets of water etched canyons
     around my roots.
I, willing my tiny tendrils to dig deeper still
     and straining my stem
     to stand straight and tall,
I fought for my survival
     the whole day long.

Finally, the rain lessened
     and the wind bore the clouds away.

Exhausted, I lay
     with my head in the mud
     and barely caught the
     motion of sun's fingers dancing
     as they slid over the horizon.

In the cold dark,
     my roots went down,
     down into the wet soil.
     I let my head rest
     on Mother Earth's breast.

The moon shined, a thin crescent,
     mere reflection of Sun's glorious rays,
     and stars glittered
     in their own galaxies
     so, so far away,
     and I knew

I was not alone.

The lilting song of the whippoorwill
     and the incessant inquiring of the owl
     rang from the hilltops
     and resounded through the valleys.

I fell asleep then
     and dreamed of knights and ladies,
     and fairies and trolls
     and garden gnomes
     until, at last,
I awoke to the morning's song,
     of birdy trills
     buzzing bees
     and the tentative breeze of new butterfly wings.

And the Light peeked up out of the east
and blessed all life with his touch.

I raised my head
     from the muddy earthen bed.
     My eyes trailed the sun
     as he rose higher,
     higher into the sky.
Before I knew it, he was right overhead
     and I—

I stood straight and tall.

Sunrises came, and sunsets, too.
     Joyful dewy mornings,
     hot days, cool nights.
     I stretched up,
     up and reached for the light.
     I dug deep and anchored in the soil.
     I sang my own songs
     of courage
     of laughter
     and delight.

Then cold bit deep;
     my leaves fell at my feet
     and I was stiff
     and I rattled rather than sang.

Rain turned to snow,
     which drifted around me.
The sun distantly swung around,
     east to west.
While the birds, bees,
     and most of earth's beasts
     rested and waited
     and sighed.
The moon turned full,
     then new again,
     full and new, full and new,
     I didn't count the times.

And then, one day the wind shifted;
     Sun's light thawed my branches.
     Birds sang again.
     Snow melted.
I stretched my trunk up
     and my roots down
     and followed the light
     through the sky.

Buds grew on my outstretched hands
     and bloomed fragrant flowers.
     Bees visited my blossoms,
     breezes pranced 'round me,
     birds nested in close to my heart.

I was not alone.

We sang the songs of summertime
     and watched the days come and go.
     Fruit set in where
     springtime buds had been
     and grew heavy,
     bowing my limbs.
     Ripening, it smelt sweet again,
     and bees swarmed busily around.
     Squirrels played in my branches;
     children laughed and chanted in their playhouse
     near the stream.

Now my fruit fell.
What wasn't carried off or eaten
     rotted and stunk. The flesh fell away
     baring the hard stone hearts within.

The cold bit deep.
Rain turned to snow.
Birds, bees, and most of earth's beasts
     rested and waited and sighed.

One day, the wind shifted
     and Sun's light thawed all he touched,
     waking us with his might.

Snow melted, birds sang,
     bees buzzed and children played,
     but not one of my fallen stones
     could I see
     amid last year's leaves
     matted down upon the earth.

I remember a time when
     I was a seed,
     a little seed
     of thoughtful endurance     
     and strength
     and fortitude
     and yet, compassion,
buried just below the surface.

I warm with the Light
     that guides my days
     and hold fast to the wisdom
     of my Roots.
I relax and float upon the wind.
Flowering, I feed my friends.

And somewhere down there—
     down under the leaves,
     a tiny seed
     digs a little root down to grip
     a grain of sand.
It stretches up,
     up to reach the warmth and light.
When the storms come,

It is not alone.

We will sing songs of summertime
     and greet the days to come.