The future seeps in through the windows, like the dawn stealing across the sky. Once I inhale it, I am out of doors, only the lightest of canvas covering me. The opening flaps in the breeze. The wind of unbidden things echoes off the walls of people shut out from this adventure. I brace myself for the cutting current but am greeted by the softest of zephyrs. I duck out. I stand unfettered. Lonely whispers call but I am isolated. The scene is empty, serene and beautiful. There are other tents, other seekers standing on other hills but they see their own futures from the vantage of their own tents and thankfully I am left to see mine.
Tape a coin to the place you sleep.
Catalog of Growth
The right seed in the right season
grows a garden of miracles for me.
I get the food for my table
or the stores for winter.
Sometimes when I’m in a Jack like predicament,
right planted seeds can provide a bean stalk
of escape from my restricted life.
I have a role to play with these wonders.
I must sort the seeds from the pebbles.
I must let the kernels out of my pocket
and into the ground.
I water when I can
and harvest what comes to fruition.
Though the best by far
is the part when I get to share the seeds.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault