Blow

Plucked from the ground

We stop growing

We leave our roots behind

Our frayed stem trailing behind us

But we’re rising

Slowly, our viewpoint expands

We can see more of the earth

We see freedom, open space

And also containment, death

This trip will come to an end

Much sooner than we can ever be ready for

We’ll get our chance to live forever, though

A strong wind, or one big blow

Will spread our seeds

Each one creating something new, different

~

Photo by Dawid Zawiła on Unsplash