The Long Work

Everyone wants fruit on the first day.
But the truth is,
a tree doesn’t hurry.

You dig a hole,
Lower the roots into darkness,
Cover them with soil and faith,
Then you wait.

Seasons pass.
You water,
You prune,
You stand guard against storms,
Nothing to show for it yet—
Only patience pressed into the earth.

Years later,
When you’ve almost forgotten the planting,
You walk past and notice,
The first pale blossom trembling in the wind.
Then, the fruit.
Sweet, heavy, undeniable.

It’s the same with a business,
With a marriage,
With a soul.
What you tend in silence.
Ripens in time.
The reward is never instant—
But always worth the waiting.