Belonging Is A Tendril

Flowers aren’t really growing much but wow, the snap peas are taking off and fueling my mornings.

Belonging is a Tendril

Snap pea sends out a foraging team of tendrils. A search party for stability. Seeking something sturdy enough to grasp and wrap itself around. Rusty wire from an old cattle panel or frayed twine weaved to and fro. Even another tender tendril will do. It’s a movement to merge further into, life beyond life. A push and pull closes the gap between longings.

Newborns reach into nothingness to locate and learn about, life beyond life. Pink tiny tendrils grasp hold and wrap onto mother, father or other. Fingers curl around fingers, homing, one spiral at a time. Growth longs for an anchor yet requires a leap into the great abyss. A paradox of life.

I feel it in the curve of my back and in the shape of my tongue forming words for feelings unspoken. A gentle breeze teases the edge of my porous skin and sunlight fills my belly, stoking an ember within. Show me how to grow wild tendrils strong enough to hold the blooms of a thousand feral returns and I will keep on reaching.

After the bloom fades, drop onto my mouth, the forbidden fruit and I will share it all with you. One word at a time.

Belonging is a Tendril.