Seeds Of Ripening

In the sanctuary of my own inner garden
I can sense the ripening,
deep in the soil of me.

Beneath the surface,
a low, ancient hum
through root and stem.

The shell is cracking.

Inspiration lifts its head
toward the light,
a slow unfurling
in the dark.

Nothing forced.
Nothing rushed.
The long view of my own heart.

May these seeds keep teaching me.

May I remember
that ripening is holy work,
bit by bit,
until my life blossoms
into the garden.