A feathery seed drifts over the lawn,
Over the housecat lying still in the grass,
Past trees and past the birds.
It flies as long as the wind wills,
Floating and drifting and waiting
To land in some boy’s sandbox
Or to settle in the hair of a young girl.
It hopes its final spot will mean more
Than an empty lot
Or the windshield of a speeding truck.
Paradise after this flight on the winds
Would be that place under the tomato plant
Where the gardener never looks
Where it can grow into a beautiful weed.
For now, however, contentedness is good,
Because there is such a thing as joy and peace
In the act of dreaming of where we will land.
This is my journey
— Nate Long “Owl”