Child Sprouts

I planted.

I composted.

I watered.

I weeded.

I keep weeding.

They pause

and bulk up

and shoot upward.

I prune.

I support.

I talk to my little plants that aren’t so small and dainty anymore.

I give them the very breath inside me.

I want them to flourish, stretch into the sun, make a way for others, and thrive.

Share the sun and rain.

Relish the present.

Keep the memories and pass their precious stories on and on and on.

I fret over whether I have given them the proper root spacing.

Will they be stable when times get hard?

Can they withstand the wind when my supports are old?

Did I over prune?

Have I removed all the suckers?

Will it hail?

Will it tornado?

Will a giant storm come and flatten all six to the ground?

Will a virus eat them all from the insides out?

Will a hookworm infiltrate?

Is that a dark cloud on the horizon or simply the setting sun?

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