A friend shared her garden with me
in a baggie of poppy seeds,
tiny black things
that could be mistaken
for a swarm of gnats.
I had my doubts that they would grow,
for I am a haphazard gardener.
But I do love the look of delicate,
showy, confident poppies,
so I planted the seeds.
Those tiny black dots sprouted and stretched
into tall, slender stalks
that birthed frilly-edged blooms of
rosy pink with inner brush-strokes of lavender
around a globe-shaped center,
a tiny pumpkin-like pod of yellow and green.
I wish poppies would bloom all summer,
but petals faded,
fluttered,
fell from their centers,
those small, round globes,
each now regally topped with a tiny crown.
Then something astonishing happened.
As the globes browned,
under their crowns,
tiny holes appeared
like observation windows for gnats—
or, as it happens,
escape hatches for seeds.
Stems dry, weaken,
bend in the wind.
Out fall the seeds and scatter on the ground.
My grandson said, “Pretty soon poppies
will cover your whole yard,
because you get more and more each season.”
And I nod,
for that is how gracious a garden is,
how generous.
One plant multiplies its beautiful, bountiful self
in tiny seed-promises,
packets of hope for the year to come.
And if I pluck the seed pods
before they spill,
I can shake seeds out of their windows
and into a baggie
to share with a friend
these tiny black things
that could be mistaken
for a swarm of gnats
but are really a gift of beauty
and bounty
and hope
and grace.
-kh-
Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.
Nature of the week:
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Text and photos © 2024 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.