I remember being little and my grandpa showing me how to grow sprouts in the windowsill of their old house. A small plate, paper towel folded in half wet from tap water, and the small seeds inside the fold. It wouldn’t take long for the seeds to sprout in the sun shining through the window. I watched with amazement how something we created together would grow and eventually be tall enough to cut with scissors and ready to be eaten. My grandpa put in on an open faced sandwich for me and it is still one of my favourite things to eat. The smell of sprouts still remind me of being there.
I came to think of that now as all the buds are bursting and the cycle of the seasons pushes through all our damage and darkness to display its yearly spectrum of greens. How inspiring to have to go through so much death and rubble and cold dark days and still, year after year be able to fill vast empty spaces with so much life. Blowing the minds of millions and millions in the most enlightening art show of the year.
I hope that somewhere there is a little bean sprout growing in me, breaking through the darkness and starting a new cycle of its own.