And roots begin.
Long. Ever growing,
Able finally to cut through dark earth
and stand on their own.
A living thing.
than we like to admit,
more often getting in our own way
than letting the water and light
work the magic
that was there all the time.
About this poem
Life is way simpler than we make it. I tell this to people all the time. In all the roles I live. The ones that believe flower. The others? Not so much. It’s not magic. It’s just how it works.
Sometimes, it’s good to be a simpleton.
PS – the picture is not mine, but one I bought from a stock photo company for a project that took a left turn so I no longer needed it. But it was perfect for this poem.