Seed

by Eruanna

I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.
~John 12:24

At last she looked down, and there in her palm lay a collection of seeds, round and white. They shone in the pale rays of the moon like the most prized gems of the Elves, and she closed her eyes, remembering old words and the wisdom of seeds. A fair breeze arose from the sea like a song, and though she did not know the words, they sank deep into her heart. The wind stroked her cheek in a silent sigh. And so she stood beside the sea, and heeded not the tears as they fell glittering into the foam at her feet.

And the seed was planted in her heart by a gentle hand, rough and scarred, only a small hand, as small as a seed itself. She felt the change within her, and she closed her eyes and breathed deep of the sea and let the moon’s light enfold her, pure and gentle as the light that shone through him. Faint and far above, she thought she could make out and even understand, if only a little, the song of the stars.

She stood a long time in silence, and as she listened, she thought of brokenness, and healing, and of the little seeds that in dying give their lives to be made new. And in her heart she seemed to hear laughter, bubbling up like a spring from a fountain of pure joy and flowing out over far-distant green hills, the sound of blessedness. She remembered quiet blue eyes, wise beyond worlds, and a soft voice speaking to her of Joy, transcendent Joy piercing as grief, the Joy that comes in the midst of sorrow, and makes it beautiful.

Then she laughed, and threw her seeds into the air. The breeze caught them and scattered them whither it would, planting them with gentle reverence at the touch of the Gardener’s hand.

Far away, across a vast impassable sea and far green hills and valleys, Frodo was singing to the sunrise.