She hollows some holes in the dark brown dirt,
a plain and murky canvas.
She drops some seeds into her huddle of holes
that seem much too small to bring about any change,
the expanse of barren brown vast about them.
She covers the seeds with new soil,
soil that is darker and richer than that which she removed,
creating a mosaic of shades that, though pretty,
hide the seeds from the sun.
She waits again.
She waters again.
And she waits once more, her patience rewarded with
slim sprouts of green, solitary stalks spreading leaves
and buds and thorns and branches and flowers.
And something different from the monotony she started with.