Don't judge each day by the harvest you reap...

"Don't judge each day by the harvest you reap,
but by the seeds you plant."
~R.L.Stevenson

When I'm tilling the soil, planting, scattering seeds across the earth. How can I imagine the green shoots and pink blossoms that will emerge? At times the earth seems too dry. At othertimes, to wet. Seasons of growth are subject to many changes.

The waiting part lies in the darkness. It lies in the ground of faith.

Before the growing part can reach tentivley for the light. Where it may inhale a breath of hope.

But still, it's the first part that is the most important of all. It's the planting of the seed. That lies in my own hand.

Every gentle word,

Every time I smile,

Or fall down laughing beside you,

Or learn the words to another song,

Count your fingers and your toes,

Every story I read aloud,

Every time I listen as you talk away and really listen,

Every time i look in your eyes and really look.

Hold you close and wipe away your tears,

Or take your hand and walk with you, to someplace you want to take me to.

Or lift you up and dance with you.

Kick up the leaves in the park with you,

Stop what I'm doing and simply "be" with you.

Another seed is sown.

*

*

*

Drumsound rises on the air,

its throb, my heart.

A voice inside the beat

says, "I know you're tired,

but come.

This is the way."–

~Jeláluddín Rúmí

A distant sound, beneath the ground. Within my pores. Under my skin. Inside my heart. A soft, still voice. In broken chords. A trembling string. An aching song. That brings me in.