I knew not what He meant.
I read the words atop the page
and listened, always spent.
A flower pinched and pruned,
a seed pod thrown away.
Seasons minus bud or flower
but spared from full decay.
Dormancy is cold,
its impoverished song refrains.
But deep inside a different tune
which can not be restrained.
My Gardener had a Plan,
a fresh arrangement of my heart.
It was my roots He grew to dense,
tenacious holds He pulled apart.
Now life has come anew,
Expansions made its way.
The fear is gone, I feel the Seal
- my nature journal entry this week