The Seed of Hope

Witten in response to the #whimword prompt “seed”.

 

Perhaps I found my seed just when I needed it most. It was always a comfort to have it with me because I knew one day I might have to use it. I would reach into my pocket every so often just to feel it in there. I kept it there for a week or two at first, and then a couple more, it ended up that I carried that little seed around with me for months and months, maybe even years. Sometimes I forgot all about it. Sometimes for weeks on end I wouldn’t give it a second thought. But it was always there if I needed it. And then one day I did.

I can’t remember what it was about that day. Perhaps that was it, the utter unremarkability of it. I mean, its unremarkability in a series of unremarkable days. Weeks without remark. And then I remembered my seed. And I took the seed out of my pocket for the first time in a long time. And I looked out at my little garden and could see just the place to plant it, down at the bottom of the slope near the boundary fence where it would get the evening sun. I thought about my little seed enjoying the warmth of the sun as I went outside to plant it.

It broke the surface a few weeks later, amongst the first green shoots of spring. Within a week it was the height of a small shrub and by the end of the month it was already as tall as a couple of thee young trees in my neighbour’s garden. By the autumn it was as tall as many of the more established oaks and elms in the other gardens along the road. Trees that have been there for as long as most people can remember.

I’ll admit, the speed at which it grew surprised even me. But I trust my seed, it has never let me down. And anyway, I’ve tested it for my weight, it’s quite secure. It’s such a reassuring presence stood behind me now as I step off.

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