Seed Pods

When we approached Our Place from a certain direction, my sister and I found ourselves entangled in a patch of high weed stalks. At their upper ends, they sported spiky seed heads. An amateur historian, my sister suggested we christen the patch “Hadrian’s Wall” and the seed heads “Hadrian’s Beard,” which was accordingly done. I don’t know what they really were. So much for the naturalist in me.

Seed pods draw me. Grey shapes silhouetted against a November sky, they seem at rest—spent and silent and tall after their fall outpouring. Having released their treasure, downy winged like baby hair, to the world, they subside into paper and bark. Their spare shapes are humbly elegant, both homey and austere. I have heard of faces “stern with suffering,” and I think seed pods must be a bit like that--a bit like the face of someone you hold in your heart but whose suffering and victory you cannot quite comprehend.

I almost envy seed pods, for they have lived, completely, their purpose.

Now, reader, you have several avenues for comment—seed pods, life purpose, objects/places of significance to you—or anything else this brings to mind. I hope you share your thoughts!

Note: For more on the spiritual metaphors behind plant life, see Elisabeth Elliot’s A Path Through Suffering, a book which has heavily influenced my thoughts on the subject.