Recycled Thoughts

The Rootless Seed

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Sunlight caresses the heads of rice fields, colors reminiscent of bleached boys’ hair, cropped and erect, a blaze of flame sweeping over.

I watch the seeds of this land, the ones who’ve sunk their roots in domestic soil, spreading out a network of generations. His eyes have dropped roots, her hands and life have dug into the earth.

And I am a rootless seed. Blown to this place by the blast of a seemingly meaningless wind. My roots won’t sink down here, as they did not there. Perhaps they will grow upon the air’s skin, clinging as it shifts from place to place.

Or perhaps, we’re all rootless seeds, souls that pretend to root ourselves in the earth’s loving breast, forming a home, a hearth. But eventually, this soil cannot hold us, cannot keep us, and we must move on like an insistent guest. A hermit crab in the dimensions.

Art by Amemura


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