After the concrete

We had imagined tomorrow would announce itself in chrome. Instead, there was fennel growing beside the back step. Someone had repaired the old speaker. Someone had made a tool and given it away.

A future worth wanting might be built from these modest acts of abundance. More things we know how to mend. More things we can grow. More time to make music in a room with other people.

The concrete will not last forever. Neither will our certainties. That leaves an opening. Bring seeds.