
How the sun warms the air around me,
enticing the earth to release its hold.
Slowly I begin to uncoil, splitting myself
rooting and sprouting.
Even as darkness remains,
tentatively I stretch and reach, barely taking hold.
Not sure whether I can dig myself out,
I vow to love
and hold
and encourage
and grow my little self.
Even with the fear of frost,
I will blossom.



How is it this cut flower, detached from its roots, has the capacity to re-grow itself, to expand in a new form, and when it seems to be at the end of its existence is capable of new life?