Idea

She held a seed in her hand.
A dark brown wrinkled shape.
She showed me a tree. What a thing a tree is! A monument, a home, a landmark, a shelter.
A construction of light and dirt.
She passed me the seed.
A tree is just dust in the air. It is just ordered dust.
But you could not do it, you can not make a tree, with your hands.
You do not know how.
It is the nature of this seed to take dust from the earth and air and from it make a tree.
This seed knows what to do with light, with water. This seed knows how to grow.

She closed my palm around the seed with her hand.
This seed is like an idea.
Your mind is the dust, the air, the light.
You must give an idea only time. It knows what to do.