Each time a seed planted in our garden successfully struggles up and peeks its head above the ground, it is magic.
There is something eternally new about a seed germinating – it compels me to burst out in song or say a little blessing. I’m reminded of the words of Cat Stevens:
Morning has broken, like the first morning
Blackbird has spoken, like the first bird
Praise for the singing, praise for the morning
Praise for the springing fresh from the world.
Last week I feared none of my new-planted seeds (beans, Southeast native wildflower mix, nasturtiums) would come up. And then – behold – midweek a few tiny cotyledons showed their faces.
With a little more rain and a few more weeks, who knows what can happen?