I see the tightness of the green, pushing off the stem. I watch it reach out, trying it’s best to grasp
any sliver of sunlight. Then slowly, but
surely, a bulging arrowhead begins to take its shape. When it can’t hold itself in any longer, the
yellow that was once rays of golden heat bursts out. Yellow blooms splay themselves open and sing
glory of what’s to come.
Then all seems death and dormancy.
At last, a small green dot, much like the head of a pin
shows itself.
Growth is slow and barely noticeable day to day. There’s a little more roundness, a little
lightening of the hue and then it all seems to stop.
After a while, though, there is that tinge. It’s the sun breaking through again, this
time in glorious sunset of palest orange. The sunset burns into a red flame
that cannot be resisted.
Like a moth I’m drawn to it, I have to restrain myself. When the fire seems to be turning to molten
lava I know it is time.
The bloom has become the fruit. The fruit comes with its reward by being the
sacrifice. To be enjoyed it must be
consumed. But isn’t that the point?
Linking up with Lisa-Jo and her merry band of writers. It's not always pretty (ahem, sorry about this one), but it's always for five minutes of abandon and community and encouragement. So, this will get added to the list and I'll comment on at least the one who linked up before me. Join us, won't you?
HI, Amy of the beautiful part of Virginia! I'm so excited that my maiden voyage for fmfparty is directly after YOU, my new fabulous Twitter friend. Okay, my favorite line in your blog post is, "The sunset burns into a red flame that cannot be resisted." YES! I can sense your intense desire. I don't want you to resist. Pluck it!
ReplyDeleteIsn't this fun?? So glad you joined us. Pluck, I did. Then I ate! :)
DeleteOh Amy... how I have missed you and your wonderful words! "The fruit comes with its reward by being the sacrifice. To be enjoyed it must be consumed. But isn’t that the point?" Yes... but sometimes I forget! I love this, sweet friend!
ReplyDeleteKarrilee, you are such an encourager for me!! I forget that sacrifice is part of anything good, too.
DeleteI love a garden story. Still waiting for mine to bloom here, but I'll enjoy yours for now! I haven't been able to resist these (straight off the plant) since I was three. How wonderful that you have this harvest. Happy weekend to you friend!
ReplyDeleteGarden stories speak to me, too, Rebekah. I'm the same way about tomatoes. I remember sitting in the swing with a tomato in one hand and the salt shaker in the other. So good when they are warm from the sun! Happy weekend to you, too!
Deletejust lovely
ReplyDeleteThank you! So glad you came by for a visit today!
DeleteThe circle of life--created by the giver of life. What more could we ask for? (Even if we don't particularly like every part of the cycle).
ReplyDeleteYou've got that right, Anita! We have to learn that all of it is the blessing, not just what we think is easy or pleasant.
DeleteI adore tomatoes!!!!! - Mine are ripening - and every day is becoming a basketfull full of gifts!!! I really like where you took this!!
ReplyDeleteThanks! This was the first bloom that popped into my mind and I just had to run with it. :)
Delete"Growth is slow and barely noticeable day to day."
ReplyDeleteYes. This growth. I want this, Friend! This little daily growth over and over turning to something big - to bloom into something beautiful! Wonderful! XO
You and me both, friend! I'm not sure what the big is, but I know if it's from God it will indeed be wonderful! :)
DeleteThe reward comes by sacrifice. So true and so encouraging as we all make sacrifices every day. Enjoyed your post, Amy!
ReplyDeleteThanks so much, Holly. Glad you enjoyed it.
DeleteAmy,
ReplyDeleteYou gleaned such wisdom from your tomatoes :) And real growth is slow....but we can keep hoping and trusting that is coming if we stick to the Vine (Jn. 15:5)....Seeing you at my blog brought a big smile to my face because I was thinking of you and our O'Keeffe talk a while back :)
So much goodness! Love it!
ReplyDelete