Milkweed Wisdom

Angel wings of milkweed
open with hopes carried on 
strings as light as prayers
a seed as solid as a plan.

But there isn’t just one seed–there are hundreds, thousands? Is that what it takes for a new life to flourish–quantity?

Or is it the magical union of gossamer strings and a billowy breeze that only together ensure opportunities so that every future has all it needs to land and thrive?

Or is it the bosomy home of the pod itself that counts? Has it nourished and grown each delicate dream with perfect care and attention?

Reason says if it were all three then every brown baby silkweed would grow and the world would be covered with milkweed and monarchs and, as I live and breathe, it is not. 

So is it parenting, prayers, or a plan? You tell me.

And while we talk of what might matter,
winds blow the angel wings and seed dreams
to fertile fields, hostile tundras, barren deserts,
their stories locked inside untold.