Abundance

Fruit decays
and becomes its seed,
abandoned,
earthcovered–
in departing it arrives,
abiding, waiting,

becoming–
is it a choice? Who
chooses which
seeds take root?
Is it a random journey
sleepwalking, rising

into orbed
skies, into flowers,
into green
and wildness,
reaching outward reaching through–
bequeathed into self?

For Sue Vincent’s photo prompt above.  In my default form, shadorma.