Samara
Based on yesterday's real events
You deserve the stirrings of peace.
You should have long inherited the blessings of the land,
A place to land, soft and rich,
A place to grow, a place to put down roots,
A place where you could unlock all the encoded secrets from your innermost heart.
Instead, you were battered by a maelstrom,
Taken far from your landing zone,
Almost crushed under uncaring feet, tires,
Settling between hard, unfriendly rocks.
Another wind, even stronger, untamed, wild,
Caught you up again,
Smashed and crashed its way across unfamiliar territory
And took you with for the ride,
Will you, nil you.
You didn’t ask for this.
Your cries of “No! No!” were completely lost in the chaos,
Shredding your wing,
The thing shaped to give you gentle passage
Turned against you,
Mangled aileron, harsh landing.
You were turned into a thing of detritus,
Dropped when you become inconvenient
To a careless caster.
You were made for quiet.
You were made for growth in the sun,
Watered by gentle rains,
Carefully hardened by the autumn frost,
Snug in a bed till spring’s rebirth.
You were made to nurture, to shelter,
Glorious green shade
And soothing wind-music
To calm a fevered soul,
Not wonder which tooth or claw
Will sink into your tender parts,
Rend, devour, take all your guarded secrets
For their own nutrition-
And eventual elimination.
Even in this shattered world,
The cries of the innocent
Are heard in the tiniest of crevices,
And a helping hand from a fellow wanderer-
Battered, bruised, fallible, but kind-
Will come along
And see the struggle,
And save a lostling.
Some precious roots will be lost,
But they will preserve what they can,
Take what little good soil still clings desperately
And find a place of safety
Where you can grow.
Sheltered, like you should be,
Tended, like you should be,
Comforted, like you should be.
A pocket of peace in the maelstrom.
Storms will return, they are inevitable,
But this time you have what you need
To withstand, endure.
In time,
You too will shelter travelers
Who can find comfort
In the shadows of your crown.
About the Creator
Meredith Harmon
Mix equal parts anthropologist, biologist, geologist, and artisan, stir and heat in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country, sprinkle with a heaping pile of odd life experiences. Half-baked.
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Comments (5)
Congrats Top Story
The layers of metaphor seamlessly woven into your careful observation gives me much to ponder. Lovely work, as always!
Beautiful top story, Meredith!
In the shadows of your crown. The image of the maple seed being battered, lifted, and dropped again felt so tender and unfair, especially when you wrote “you didn’t ask for this” — that line landed like a quiet truth a lot of us never hear when things go wrong. I kept thinking about how carefully you hold both the damage and the hope at the same time, like you’re refusing to rush healing or pretend the roots weren’t torn. The idea that even in the maelstrom, someone notices and chooses kindness really stayed with me. When you were writing this, did you feel more like the seed, or like the wanderer who stops to save it?
Beautiful. ❤️