Planting seeds for tomorrow, yes, part of today's work.
Look forward to tomorrow.
Live today. With a light footstep, walking lightly.
Which means I have to speak gently with the son who pushed all my buttons this morning and our words got all tangled and messy.
Which means I want to take today slowly, one limping, faltering step at a time.
Which means I plant seeds and water and keep the florescent light close over them, even if the chill of snow is predicted to fall tonight.
And I attempt to step quietly through the day, my hand open to today's work and tomorrow's hope.
|Seedlings in the basement|