Parable of the Seed

Beneath the paving stones, the occasional weed
pokes through dried leaves and weathered remnants of debris.
I step as the gravel-filled hexagon crunches
underfoot amid emerging weeds and bunches
of stones. Dirt and moss and hardened earth lie under
browning leaves; trees stumped to the ground nearby blunder.
A lone heart-shaped leaf tittups in the breeze, it’s green
and reaching. On the ivy-covered trees, buds glean
vining leaves as they bypass the soil below.
The carpet of leaves is lined with marks of a plough;
its green shoots are shorn exactly three inches deep.
Closer inspection reveals some straw-colored heaps
flattened underfoot and moss growing at the base
of the graceful arching form of dancing grass blades.
Dark leafy decay fills the deep crevices made
by the irregular shape of stones and the gray-
brown patterns on the rocks form a smooth painterly
surface of lines and curves, an effect praiseworthy.
Scattered seeds abounding wildly in abundance
remind us that mother nature holds no judgment.

© Christine Salkin Davis, 2019




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