cold hands held the seeds.
I among them.
it did not feel like celebration. . .
maybe once,
but these were clammy dreams,
lines in her hands going nowhere,
just holding me, holding seeds,
hoping.
but isn’t it a wonder
that fragile beginnings
empty of vision
never determine
the vibrant awakening
of a garden.
and she would know it
soon.
-S.V.F.
photo of our garden entrance days before we brought our firstborn home to sunflowers and zinnias. what began in a grocery cart during the pain of infertility turned to this.❤
I wonder what kind of garden we will bring our spring baby girl home to in a few days or so?❤ I’ll be sure to let you know.
Sierra V. Fedorko 