Time to Daydream

Sunshine falls through the trees and is held for brief moments on beads of flying water. The rainclouds perform their duty, spreading their life giving jewels to the hungry plants below. Everything is so lush and green and healthy, the tangly limbs of herbs, flowers, trees, and bushes threaten to swallow the narrow pathways whole.

How horribly wonderful that would be.

As the water is to these plants, these paths are important to us. They lead from the barn to the kitchen, from the outhouse to the orchard, back behind the tool shed to where the bees busily make honey in the meadow. Without these small trails how would one ever find their way to the vegetable garden, the greenhouses, or the chicken coops? These single person paths guide us, yet mother nature moves irreverent, quietly creeping, slowly swallowing, engulfing and decaying everything we've worked so hard to build.

I imagine waking up one night, peering out the barn door, and as if I had overslept by years, discovering that everything had grown. Overgrown, been overtaken by a force so old and so powerful it frightens you. How strange it would be, having the paths you once knew erased, being in a familiar land, lost.

One could feel isolated, defeated, crawl up and cry.

One could see opportunity, a chance to blaze trails to discovery, to swing from tree limbs in search of the unknown.

Grow earth.
Grow.