Little green specks

When you feel hollow and weak,
that you are a dry, brittle stick,
come walk with me;

when you feel strong and sure of yourself,
solid as stone, unshakable,
come walk with me:

come walk in these spring woods,
the branches flecked like a light snowfall
with little green specks,

tender and weak, tiny and tentative,
like babies’ wings, or the fingers of moths,
like the tendrils of hope curling through the soil

of your heart. Let these little leaflets be
this small today. Let them be this soft and thin,
their smallness nature’s startling ruse:

for soon enough they shall overwhelm
these woods and all that is in them,
irrepressible, astonishing, and downright

mighty. Their power is immeasurable because
it is from beyond them, pressed impossibly
into these delicate green buds like little hands,

like tiny suns, like atom bombs, like songs,
or—even when you are a dry stick, or a stone—
like you.

Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
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