Gardeners: We’d prepare the ground and plant the seeds at the perfect moment of the right season. Lovingly we would add water and nutrients to encourage our buds to push aside the dirt that still holds us captive. We’d wonder how or if our seedlings would leave the protection beneath to seek the warmth pledged by the rays of the Sun.
We’d constantly be on guard to pull all weeds that command our breathing space. To save from harm those tender plants growing faster than intended by their season. To keep an eye out for the insects that unite the garden and those that intend to destroy it.
To ultimately be content: even proud and pleased that the fruits of our labor can now be shared with others. Like those who may, for the first time, learn the value of a garden. Or those who begin to clear the overgrown weeds to remember what they used to have.
Ultimately we’d observe—with knowing—that the seasons begin to change and soon the gardens of our making will fade away to create space for the beginners.
Dare I Ask: “What if our garden is forever barren just because we chose to never plant that first seed?”