I was like a tumbleweed. A Rose of Jericho, blowing in the wind. I'd land for bit. Spread my leaves and turn green. Until water fades. Then I'd wrap up my little self and tumble tumble away.
I wonder then if I could choose the wind? So meticulous I'd be, which way to drift. Until I'd remember. The beauty of tumbling. Is freedom from choosing.
Yet one day I know, my roots will grow deep. I'll become vulnerable as I first flower. Then I'll grow and grow and grow. Goodbye tumbleweed. Hello "?"