Three Sacred Seeds. {fiction}


One evening, an angel was perched upon a navy-colored cloud, almost invisible against the night sky.

She held three sacred seeds in the palm of her hand. She exhaled the essence of life through her pursed lips, animating the seeds with consciousness.

“Good morning, my loves,” she whispered. The tiny seeds hopped in her hand in response.

She pinched the first seed between her thumb and index finger, so the arch of her hand made a perfect circle.

“What am I?” asked the seed.

“You are a strawberry seed,” the angel began,“a seed that contains purity and nourishment. But you must be careful. Your challenge in life is that sometimes birds will peck at you. They will say you are too soft, too saccharine, too vibrant. Disregard them. Your existence will enchant many, and the world will be sweeter because you live.

And I promise to you, the creatures of earth will always smile when they see you hiding amongst the summer grass.”

The seed understood. The angel attached a tiny leaf to the delicate seed as a parachute, and blew it towards the earth.

She grasped the second seed. “Who am I?” it asked.

“You are a bristlecone pine,” the angel replied. “What is that? Am I sweet too?” asked the tiny seed.

“You, my dear, are an ancient one. Inside of you lies the potential for a distinctive way of nourishing life. You see, you are highly resilient to cruel weather and sandy soil. You grow where other plants cannot.”

The seed smiled with dignity.

“But you must be careful. Sometimes, the cacti in the desert will overlook your gifts. They may taunt you, and say that you are just another weed. They cannot see how your lovely roots tangle through the soil, or the teeny worms that feast off of the scars in your bark. But the world is a robust place because you exist. And I promise to you, the coyotes will sing you to sleep every evening under the moon.”

The seed understood. The angel attached a small pinecone to the seed as a parachute, and blew the seed towards the earth.

The third seed anxiously awaited the angel’s enlightenment. “Who am I? Am I a tree? A cucumber? A rose?”

The angel glinted benevolently at the seed.

“You, little one, are quite sacred,” the angel began. “You are the seed of inspiration. I cannot tell you what your mission in life is, or the tests you will face. All I can say is, you have the potential to write the story of the universe.”

The seed hesitated, “This all seems so uncertain.”

“It is a gamble,” the angel firmly stated, “but I promise, if you are optimally nurtured, sprout in a suitable manner, and cultivate cavernous roots, you will be eternally satiated with your life’s work. It will not be an easy existence, but it will be significant.”

The seed thought for a moment. It hesitantly shook its small body in endorsement. The angel blessed the seed, then removed a feather from her wing. She tied the feather onto the seed as a parachute, and blew it towards the earth.

The seed smiled as it soared.


Olive Bahr is a clinician, creator and lover of all things magical. When she is not posting poems on Instagram, she can be found working on her doctorate, gardening on her roof, or upside down. She is described by children as exceptionally silly. She has multiple certifications in Yoga and coaching, and completed a Masters of Science degree at New York University. She resides in Brooklyn, NY. You could follow her on Instagram or Tumblr.


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