Jesus told them many things in parables, saying: “A farmer went out to sow his seed. As he was scattering the seed, some fell along the path, and the birds came and ate it up. Some fell on rocky places, where it did not have much soil. It sprang up quickly, because the soil was shallow. But when the sun came up, the plants were scorched, and they withered because they had no root. Other seed fell among thorns, which grew up and choked the plants. Still other seed fell on good soil, where it produced a crop—a hundred, sixty or thirty times what was sown. Whoever has ears, let them hear.” —Matthew 12:3-9
You scatter seeds of love on my path,
and by the time I recognize them,
the birds have come and eaten them all.
Then I will be the birds
lifting your eyes to see
love above and around
as blue as cloudless wonder.
You scatter seeds of love in rocky places,
where trust is thin and roots wither
when old fears scorn and scorch.
Then I will be the willows, oaks and maples shading your path,
the cool breeze tickling the back of your neck,
the rain nourishing your roots.
You scatter seeds of love, and some fall among sinewy beliefs
where memories prickle and choke.
Then I will be a sea of purple, blooming in the thistles,
for there is no place My love does not abide.
Sometimes Your seeds fall on good soil and produce
a kind thought, a creative idea, a poem
for thirty, sixty, perhaps, a hundred wandering pilgrims.
Yes, and in those graces, My seeds of love
are carried by birds,
shaded and watered in thin places,
thrive in thorns,
and produce a bumper crop
of lovers.
″If you become a bird and fly away from me,” said his mother, “I will be a tree that you come home to.” — Margaret Wise Brown, The Runaway Bunny
An Everyday Pilgrim 