The Bradford Pear
I touch one,
The baby buds growing on the tree.
They're tender, vulnerable, and soft.
They promise new life to come.
What awaits these tiny buds?
Only seasons will tell.
One year might have more rain while a drought might have happened in the previous year.
Wind might blow them away,
forever carrying them away from their home.
I pluck one and hold it in the palm of my hand.
It's pungent smell not yet noticeable.
But I know when the tiny, green bud blooms,
The pretty, little white petals and the essence of the bloom, will contrast.
How can something so delicately pretty, so innocent,
emit such a intoxicatingly rich, pungent bouquet?
I know this little bud's future.
I drop it to the ground, hearing the soft fump as it hit.
I've decided it's fate once I've plucked it,
I'm like God in this way.
Dropping an angel from the sky,
To live his or her life in the arms of humanity and family.
To have the struggles I've predetermined so they can become who they were,
who I know them to be.
I've forgiven their pungent mistakes because I know the mistakes they will make.
Their family will nurture the tiny, innocent angelic baby, never knowing what the future
will hold for their child.
The now blooming adult will walk away, to take risks, to challenge life, to be carried
away by the wind.
Their lives are now guided by my hands,
If they so chose.
However, what choice do they have if I have predetermined their lives?
I closed the small hole in the ground with the pat of my hand,
took the clear glass cup,filled to the brim of precious water,
I poured.
I took the chance, a risk, so that a new life can begin.
Copyright © Meagan Whiddon | Year Posted 2011
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