They grow, they emerge.
Gifts blossom like seeds into flowers,
and sometimes they burst out like an explosion.
Fears creep up like vines and work into their walls because
they are still porous, still hardening into what they will become.
And in a pack of four,
one shades the other and one leaves water for the bigger one,
like a forest where the trees all look out for each other.
And I can tend and rake and pour and prune,
but the weather comes from God above and I am rooted into one spot too,
and those saplings move away with the current of the earth as it shifts.
I see one stronger,
there’s a weaker one there, one bends harder in the wind and one is solid as an oak.
To think I never would have known the smell of the leaves or colors of these mixed trees
Had they not been born or grafted here.
They are glory
to my eyes.
And I like for
people to see them.