Seeds in the Snow

Here in the Northland, color vanishes in November. Shades of grey, white, and brown dominate the land, lake, and sky. Like the external environment outside my window, yesterday found my "internal" landscape barren of any color. 


I slogged through the day with uninspired attempts at cleaning my home. In my kitchen's junk drawer, there among the coupons and clutter, I found an envelope labeled John's seeds. I sighed and smiled at the discovery. 


Last August, my friend gave me a gift of Lupine seeds he'd harvested at summer's end. A series of major life events delayed me from planting them. The memory of the envelope slipped from my mind.


I shook the envelope, recalling the Lupine's spectacular bursts of purple, lavender, and pink that explode upon sturdy green stalks during June and July. Suddenly, fields of Lupine bordering roadsides and forest edges filled my monochromatic mind. Gently shaking the envelope I suddenly knew what must be done. 


I shoved the envelope in my jacket pocket, and pulled on my boots. Hefting two pots of dirt and a trowel from the garage, I marched through the light snowfall to my garden's edge. There among the tall grasses, I knelt in the twilight and sprinkled the seeds. As each nugget dropped to the earth, I envisioned their centers holding the hope of verdant green and royal purple..the colors of life and vitality. 


The seeds in the snow hold the desire I have for my life as winter tightens it grip upon the earth. The seeds in the snow are also my desire for you and yours. 
Peace Be In All,
Jane