I keep weeding.
and bulk up
and shoot upward.
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?Recommend0 Simily SnapsPublished in