Plant A Seed

The woman hummed as she placed the small cotton bags into her tattered purse. The seams of the worn leather bulged a bit, but held. Her grandmother had given it to her 70 years before for her 16th birthday, not too long before she passed away. She’d carried the bag for all the important events in her life. To weddings and births and funerals. When the seams failed, she’d taken a needle to them, ruining the pristine appearance but maintaining the integrity of the bag itself. Her great granddaughter sat at the table next to her, tiny legs swinging and tongue poked out the corner of her mouth as she carefully tied 3 knots in the ribbons holding the cotton bags closed. It has to be 3. 3 is the number of intention, 3 is the number of power. There were 3 nails in the cross for a re Read More