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.
