
Yes, I know you are waiting my sprout. Sometimes even I must pause, did you know that?
There is more to gather, more to weld, more to dispense before my skirts are once again flowing in the wind. No matter now, stretch your neck through the black soil and let your soft head bask in the moving light. You are surprised it is warmer above than below! You forget it is not your first birth. We are ready again for each other, but we are not the same, it bodes ill to be so. Fool mine, seeking hither and thither for the water to glimpse your reflection. Drink instead my love. You are the custodian of the breath bestowed, and many more gifts seek you now. You must be able to bear them, to spread and curve your tendrils to catch it all as it arrives. It aches me too sometimes tender one, to watch as your fibres are pulled further and wider than you knew could be done. But you will revel in the intoxication of those who draw in your nectar and you will cherish the decree of my Will for you will know it is yours too. It is time to remember that one must be for many and that being must be of beauty or else my ache will never end. I have tailored it all so that you are not inclined to consider a cruel choice but first you must forget that there ever was one. I left that there for you to see, the ash of the harvest. The swiftness you crave is only thwarted by the unburned. This I do not ask of you, it will be done. You need only that which you already have, the force of your seed, which knows why it creeps and climbs, sturdier by the minute, replenished every moment you remember to draw me in. The forest is already in celebration of your every tremor, listen! Follow the drums and take your place at the helm of your realm.