Seeds are magical.
For Ostara we planted five seeds.
The soil that held them was mixed with ashes.
Ashes that had once been paper,
that had once held our Imbolc intentions,
and that now nourished the soil.
Our seeds, so small in the dark soil.
Tiny seeds of possibility– asleep.
We set them in the sun with water and our blessings.
I planted seeds as a child.
I plant seeds as an adult,
experiencing the anticipation and wonder anew.
I ran to peer at the soil every day,
hoping for growth and new beginnings.
The adult kept the excitement away.
The adult made plans if the seeds did not grow.
The child stayed hopeful and rejoiced when seedlings emerged.
Seedlings are magical.
Our “babies”, our seedlings.
Tiny and delicate, they persevere every day.
All five have grown.
All five lean towards the sun.
Some are stronger than others.
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