On my walk this morning the verticality of the dried grasses along the path was particularly striking. The stalks are dry now, brown and crisp. The seeds wait at the top of the stalks, to be nibbled, to blow across the fields, to fall into the soil below. There is no vitality in the plants; the heat and dry has sapped them of life. But they are only on hiatus. Growth lies dormant. When conditions change and are right again, they will repeat the cycle.
Comforting, isn’t it?