I awoke this morning with a partial saying in my head. This phrase came from a book that I read so long ago that the name escapes me but only this phrase endures. It came as a dream about love but I needed Google to fill in the pieces that stress, age, alcohol, and time took away.
‘One for the mouse, one for the crow, one to rot, and one to grow’
It’s old farm wisdom about planting seed that I am sure has a million different nouns depending on the farmer mumbling the verse. Out of every four seeds you are swindled or lose two to nature, one never matures, and the last one you can reasonably expect to make something real.
This came to me in a dream about love. I was planting something in my garden (no coincidence I am sure, I was tilling and hoeing last evening) and it wasn’t seed. I didn’t know what I was planting but I was talking to a passerby about it. We were having a conversation about the joy and heartbreak that comes with the soil struggle. I wish I recall the words better, but the imparted saying had to do with how we love one another.
I take this to reflect on on my walk this morning. The seeds of patience and love often don’t spout immediately or at all. For that reason I need to overplant.