Buried beneath this thickness of earth, deep in the darkness, I’d almost forgotten it had always been there — just waiting for the right time. Somewhere in the depth of winter, I failed to remember that it’s not really dead, it’s just sitting patiently, waiting its turn. My dreams have been buried for awhile now. I look out and all I see is blackness, the dreams of my youth, lost within the soil of my soul. And I’ve wondered, have they simply rotted away?
Yet tonight, a friend watered this ‘dream seed’ with hope, and earlier this week, an acquaintance shined a few sunbeams down for which I could reach toward. And I am reminded that the seed, or even seeds, which hold all my dreams, are still there. Still viable. They haven’t gone anywhere. They just needed to wait for the right season. And now, the seeds are cracking with the nourishment of hope and encouragement. Look, do you see it? My dream! It’s growing again! Oh wait, you can’t see it yet, it’s still buried beneath the surface. But one day it will bloom. Perhaps then, because of these years of darkness, I will appreciate the joy of that moment, all the more.