I was going to write about my lack of faith. There seems to be little to rely on out there – and in here it’s not much better. I lost faith in my body years ago (the bastard tried to kill me), and the older I get, the less I trust my own judgements. I seem to know less and less, or maybe just to see complexities I didn’t see before.
And then I remembered the seeds.
Neckar Gold. Claytonia. Cherokee Trail of Tears. Reine des Glaces. Rouge Tete Noir. Striato di Napoli. Burgess Buttercup. Golden Frill.
The soil is wet and cold and heavy at the moment – too heavy to work. But buying seeds is an act of faith in the future, and faith in myself. Faith in the soil, in Mother Earth. Faith that there will be enough sunshine, sometime – hard to believe at the moment. Faith in the green shoot that pushes on through.
tiny home of life
held in the palm of my hand
earth and sun and rain
Mish is tending bar this week, over at dVerse. She asks us to reflect on faith and it’s place in our lives.