The ground is frozen and glittered and the sky is dark, but dreams unfurl quietly and push up, up. Tiny green things in the cracks if we know how to look.
In the morning my daughter tells me she wants to plant seeds on the playground at her school.
But not in the cement, I tell her. Seeds need soil.
She’s been growing, my girl. She’s been telling us she’s bored at school so we asked the teachers to give her more challenges, more to do. Now she’s working on projects with the older class, sitting still in concentration. Just yesterday she brought home her first traced letters. She nailed it – all the swoops and curves of her name. Both of us, so proud.
My seed is going to turn into a red flower on the playground. And I will look at it every day.
In the middle of winter we are working on finding the sun. We are working on scraping through the frozen earth and helping the soil grow rich and dark. There is life there, in stasis, waiting for the thaw.
We are humming to ourselves and sharing dreams out loud. We are tending to our gardens. We are preparing to bloom.