Tuesday, November 22, 2016

Tiny Seeds

He moistened the hem of her robe,
led her by both hands.

The green of the forest was under her feet,
now there is only water.

The fire ate up most of the mountains,
with a sound of seeds popping.

She used excuses by the dozen, offered
to herself and to others.

By late October, tendrils appeared
and her fears were dealt with in dreams.

Ecclesiastes called for seasons of planting,
with a time to weep and a time to laugh.

The grass had a chance once again, as
blackened earth and charred roots gave way.

The soles of her feet were too used to stones.
She came alone from the desert to the trees calling.

Her tiny seeds have sprouted
in the hands of her Lover.

Jenneth Graser

"Who can tip over the water jars of the heavens
when the dust becomes hard
and the clods of earth stick together?"

Job 38:37-38

Artist - Arun Prem


  1. Oh, beautifu, Jenneth, and a perfect scripture pairing. What a gorgeous start to my day.

    And this line: "The fire ate up most of the mountains, /
    with a sound of seeds popping."

    I think of Lodgepole pines needing extreme heat before their serotinous cones release their seeds. I've never witnessed it but can imagine the marvelous percussion . . .

    1. Thank you dear Laurie! I love your insights and the images of the Lodgepole pines.
      So refreshing for me likewise this morning to be blessed by your courageous post on gratitude! 💕

  2. Ha! "beautiful" is what I meant :)