Saplings

I have recently discovered that I love things that grow. The magic never dulls to put a small hapless seed into the ground, adding sunlight and water, and watching it become something green and vivid, growing and changing. Each sapling, you know, is unique. I planted pansies in my window box and nine sprouted. Even as saplings they each look different, they grow and change at different rates. And some of them don't grow at all. Even with the risk of failure though, I love to try. I love to watch them twist and change each day. Do plants have personalities? Do they think and feel? Do they have growing pains like we do? Do they crave water and light the same way I crave chocolate and affection? It is a thrill to watch them.

I like things that grow slow. Plants, dreams and aspirations, families, testimonies, dinner rolls, and emotions.

And relationships.

It often takes me a few beats to get use to change--even if it's good. It seems slow growing things all require warmth and nourishment, time and care in order to grow strong and healthy. They grow at their own pace, each one unique. They twist around themselves and change, they surprise me and seem to often catch me off guard.

I have no idea what this one will turn into, how it will look, or if it will ever bear fruit. I suppose that is part of the magic though--the very uncertainty that makes slow growth a risk is what makes it worth trying for, because if you don't even try it will certainly die. Slowly. I don't love uncertainty, I don't love growing pains, and I certainly don't relish the very real possibility that all this could end in a heap of shallow roots and dried up twigs.

But I do love the thrill of slow growth.