Fallow time

In winter
no shoots, no leaves,
no green. Bare branches
shaking in the wind. Thin fingers,
pointing to the sky, resting in this
fallow time, resting in this wintertime
of the soul. Not waiting for spring.
Not waiting for anything. Just
lying gently in brown earth, gently
resting in the dark. Silently
being the seed. Not waiting
for a shoot. Not waiting for
something to germinate.
Resting inside the hard shell,
letting it shelter, letting the
hard frost of winter
do it's work. It's work of
breaking the shell -
But not yet. But not yet.
For now, a time of resting,
in a dark place,
in silence, nurturing
the seed that has fallen.