What sower walked over the earth,
which hands sowed
our inward seeds of fire?
they went out from his fists like rainbow curves
to frozen earth, young loam, hot sand,
they will sleep there
greedily, and drink up our lives
and explode it into pieces
for the sake of a sunflower that you haven’t seen
or a thistle head or a chrysanthemum.
Let the young rain of tears come.
Let the calm hands of grief come.
It’s not all as evil as you think.
-Rolf Jacobsen, translated by Robert Bly, from Rag and Bone Shop of the Heart
Photos taken on a Seattle city street where a tiny patch of sunflowers sprouts up between the cement slabs of pavement. The sacred dwells everywhere.
-Christine Valters Paintner @ Abbey of the Arts