Tiny packets of life, these seeds. They seem
invisible in our busy days, and, tossed
by shoes, or cracked by birds, or cast by breeze
among the weeds and stones, they might be lost;
might be scorched, or washed away—or, worse,
bloom in all their grace, and be ignored—
but some of them take root. So words.
They’re particles of thought we pitch toward
a generation we can’t know. Beneath
the snow, beneath the ash, and still for years,
lay a spring antiquity bequeathed
to us. So plant these in your garden, dear,
and tend them, as Lucretius might,
who thought that all we see are seeds of light.
—Timothy Sandefur
Time is short, so I’ll be direct: FIRST THINGS needs you. And we need you by December 31 at 11:59 p.m., when the clock will strike zero. Give now at supportfirstthings.com.
First Things does not hesitate to call out what is bad. Today, there is much to call out. Yet our editors, authors, and readers like you share a greater purpose. And we are guided by a deeper, more enduring hope.
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First Things needs you. I’m confident you’ll answer the call.
