The romantic in you wants to wear flowers in her hair and walk barefoot through the newly greening grass; the lover of fine clothes is eager to don her first flouncy pastel dress of the season, and the earth woman wants nothing more than to plant the seeds heavy in her open hands.

But it's more than that.  You want to celebrate the seeds you've sown in the past year and the ones you hope to plant now.  They are promises, these pods cradled in the palm of your hand, of a prolific year, an abundance of whatever you choose to give to the soil.  You are intoxicated by this delicious itch to create new life, bringing dreams into your waking life. 

Soon you will reap your first crop of radishes--full of earth and pepper--and those little tender lettuce leaves, the product of your love and care.  But what about your other seeds?  The wish floating on the cottony dandelion wisp? Or the fertile black disks of a hollyhock, shameless in their pursuit of life?  What of the hollow bulb empty of everything save for a few fragments of a past life?

You must be careful which seeds you choose to plant for now, under the light of the blood moon or the gaze of the spring sun; whatever you plant will surely take and grow strong in this receptive soil.  The seeds weigh down your palm--the dandelion heaviest of all.  You do not need more ghosts haunting your waking life, no memories of what was walking by your side.  You crumble the all-but-dead bulb, consigning it to the compost where its remnants will feed your garden.  You take that thick hollyhock seed and shove it deep into the earth, knowing it will reach to the sky and bring her sisters with it. 

Lastly, you take that dandelion wisp, full of your own wishing, and cast it into the sky.  Let it find its own resting ground, its own soil to make its home and grow full and strong in its own time.  It will find its way back to you, as all wishes do when you are ready for it.