There’s a good reason writers love to plant seeds as metaphors. But also literal, as literal as the small and dry kernels allow them to. They, too, like dirty hands. They, too, like water from a hose.
It’s good for the heart. It’s good for the stomach to plant, to nourish, to crawl on all fours, to search for the roots, to get tired and lie on our backs and squint at the sky.
Tiny victories, you know. We water them, we pull them into the sky. One syllable. One word at a time.