Pollen grains

At start it floats lightly in the air on a warm sunny morning...
the air blows stronger, and breaks her into tiny little grains...
each grain travels farther than the other, and in a moment they become estranged, each landing on far brown soil... awaiting a stormy cloud patiently.

Days and nights have shadowed on them...
On one particular moonless night, a strike of lightning and thunder storms, announcing that soon the dry soil is to be blessed.

Thunder rain storms and wind, yet the grains are bearing, they have faith in what is to come next…

The sun rises one early morning, and there between the muddy brown soil a pinch of fresh green .
and on another rising, those once tiny pinches of green, grew to become big tall trees with long branches reaching out to one another each from a separate trunk…

Many trunks, once belonged to one pollen, once separated… are now once again united.

I wish we were as patient and faithful as pollen grains.

Pollen grains.
At first, so attached.
They separate.
Wait and take their time.
Go through storms.
Still connected although so apart.
The return is slow but assured.
And at last they unite, but in a much greater form than when they first started.
A stronger unbreakable ever giving union!