Seeds. Doesn’t it all come down to that? We dress up the meaning of life with our human values – love, happiness, making the lives of our fellow beings less shitty – but in the end, there is nothing more elemental than a seed, the embodiment of the everlasting cycle of life into death into life. We were but seed, and through our own seed we create new life, and in that seed’s germination we know that life is everlasting, life out of death out of life forever and ever, as long as seed shall last.
In my soul I have laid the story of God over this story of seed, or maybe God has laid the story of seed over this green and growing world. I find it beautiful, and comforting. In my garden I rejoice in green shoots, celebrate the exuberant beauty of flowering vines, mourn the untimely death of a plant taken by disease or predation, harvest the fruit, and in the fall, when frost visits all things, I sweep away the decaying bodies of my plants with small sorrow (for they have lived their full span) and treasure their seeds as the promise of spring’s resurrection miracle.