You watch the old man and his wrinkly, sun-baked skin as he turns up the soil, slowly and carefully depositing one seed after another lovingly into the arms of the earth with a patience and reverence born with age and the experience of an aching body. He continues, his crinkly textured hands brushing through the dirt, and he bends down again, receiving his weight with his knees, not the uncertain curve of his back.
The sun glints on the peak of his once-fine hat, and you can make out a name embroidered on the side. It once might have been a finely crafted ornament, but today it's a mud-splattered glory. While once it just carried just his head, now it carries memories of its own also.
He finishes the row and makes his way back towards you. You feel guilty for not joining in, but you're content to sit and watch this mysterious masterpiece of normality from your spot within the fern.
It will not be long, before the planting season begins. Again. Such was life, an endless cycle of ends and beginnings. you sigh. Why did the beautiful things have to change? It seemed every time something went right, it was crushed again. But as I watch the old man toil in the dirt, you realize, all you need is another bucket of seeds to plant.
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A New Beginning
RandomWhen life seems grayer than a dwindling twilight, reach deep inside yourself and find a new beginning. Sometimes you don't have to wait for the sun to break through the clouds. Photo Credit to Mark Leader.
