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 the leap into a 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 while sunlight fills my belly and makes fire within. Allow me to grow lwild tendrils that hold the blooms of a thousand feral returns. In their fading, release into my mouth, your forbidden fruit.

Snap pea pleasure and yearning tastebuds force a sacred spring to erupt. Holy communing fills the soil full of fertility once again.

 Belonging is a Tendril.