Second Wind

When I’d reached the fork in the road, against all common sense and rationale, not knowing exactly why, I took the road that extended an invitation, but one which was precarious and forbidding .
The world, including man, was summarily left behind and when I’d found the quiet the work began.
I cleared weeds and thorns from a plot of ground. I dug my hands beneath the surface to loosen the soil; dirt caked underneath my fingernails; blood clotting my palms. I planted seed. I planted seed in famished soil; the first quest to nourish the soil, to give the seed any hope for life. Years passed and slowly, with painstaking care, a dry crusty earth was made rich and moist.
Come spring when new blooms burst forth, the earth brimming with life, the air rippled and fragrant, tiny green sprigs broke the ground, born of my seed.
Providing the plants a drink of life a breeze swept across the plains, over the hills and through the valleys, taking away the still. As I trod the earth, the wind at my back, did the journey take on focus while scars born from a lifetime of struggle throbbed and burned, the memory of each reminding.

Enduring the trials and tribulations, I now have purpose.
My seeds beget seeds, providing life for others, my purpose manifest.
My second day has begun, and I’m fresh. Brimming with life.