The Weight of a Seed
I keep a small, rusted tin box on my desk that once held sewing needles, though now it holds only the dry, curled husks of seeds I gathered years ago. They are brittle things, light as breath, yet they carry the heavy promise of a season that has not yet arrived. We often mistake fragility for weakness, forgetting that the smallest things are the ones that endure the longest winters. There is a quiet, stubborn dignity in waiting for the soil to soften, in holding onto the potential for growth when the world around us feels barren and cold. We carry these internal harvests through our hardest days, tucking them away like secrets, trusting that even when the cupboard is bare, the capacity to begin again remains intact. It is a strange, beautiful burden—to be the keeper of a future that no one else can see. What do we hold onto when the ground beneath our feet feels like it might give way?
Jose Juniel Rivera-Negron has captured this quiet resilience in his photograph titled There is Always Hope. It serves as a gentle reminder that even in the most difficult seasons, the human spirit continues to plant seeds for tomorrow. Does this image stir a similar sense of endurance in you?
