The pod twists, snaps, explodes from the tree, catapulting seeds, flying through the forest. You might be surprised if standing nearby.

A crinkled ball of potential rolls over parched earth, settles by a craggy rock.

Winter comes and the seed lies dormant, unmoving, frozen by fingers of frost. The world dozes.

Days lengthen, ice thaws and new life promises. The seed shifts as water drips.

Spring rains come and the seed is lifted by a current of swirling mud. A journey over foreign lands.

Wrinkled skin softens and swells beneath layers of soil.

The sun warms the earth and a root burrows down, seeking nutrition and sustenance.

A summer day brings motion, a crack in the ground as a shoot struggles up with bowed head.

The plant strengthens, unfurls, follows genetic patterns, blossoms, attracts bees. The prime of life.

Autumn brings pseudo death. Crunchy leaves, dryness, pods that explode, perpetuating life. A forest grows.

by Debbie Roome

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