What kind of optimist plants a seed the size of a baby's toe and actually believes it will grow into a giant sunflower? Just because the package says so?  I notice that no one is willing to stick his neck out and sign the instructions, so that you could come asking for a refund if it is a dud. 

 

I am dubious. I mean, I could rip it out of the ground, dissect it, even peer at it through a microscope and not see a hint of yellow. As for size, who swallows the idea of a one inch pair of leaves barely big enough to cast a shadow defying gravity and the conservation of mass to multiply in height by a factor of 143?

 

Ok, ok, I will give it some time. Three or four hours. Maybe a whole day.  But if I do not see results by tomorrow, Friday at the latest, I am outta here.

 

Actually, the seedling is doing a stellar job.  In the world of vegetation, speed is not the only consideration. Color, resilience, texture and fragrance score points too.  Porous ground, enough water and warmth help a lot. I once speed read a scientific study whose premise was that yelling makes plants more susceptible to failure.

 

What kind of Pollyanna believes that a seedling relationship will grow into a beautiful flowering one? Just because God says it can?

 

Couples keep showing up to get married, even though, if you take them apart, you cannot find the qualities that the package advertises: wisdom, compatibility, mutual desire to do each other every good.

 

Do I really believe that this friendship, now measured in a fistful of months, will grow into a  relationship that fills half a century?  Can something no bigger than a promise expand to include children and grandchildren playing ring around the rosy,  homes mortgaged and lived in, problems weathered together, parents buried, tears spilled and felt? A colorful life includes a palette of mournful gray, joyful lemon yellow, reflective sage green, and passionate scarlet.