Everything it needs to grow into something wonderful.
It just asks for the right conditions. Water, sunlight, some nice earth to sit in. Not too many prowling bean eaters.
One little bean. Everything in the world.
The embodiment of potential, the bean is a beautiful thing.
The sprout, growing upwards, is more a symbol of hope. A sign of renewal.
The first sprouts of spring. The beckoning fingers of the beginning of summer.
The baked bean is a humble thing, full of energy and life, small and giving, nourishing and likely to make one’s rump sing.
The sprout is also a tuneful vegetable. The bane of many a child, a little whirled mass of greenery, tight and knotted and best coated in butter and nuts.
I wonder what I could have bean.
Sometimes you really make me want to sprout.
The bean is definitely beautiful. Solid and rounded and firm and small. So much inside.
And it has an entire plant inside it.
The sprout is definitely beautiful. Reaching up from the ground to the sky, ready to grow and grow and grow. It knows it’s place, and it knows how to reach beyond it.
And it does.
One is the other. Different stages. The humble beansprout.
Some things can sprout.
All things can be. Many things have been.
But nothing really beans.
Sprout rolls of the tongue, lingering and lasting onward.
Bean just is. It can wait; but once it is said it is done in an instant.
It’s been a long time since I was a bean, yet somehow I always feel like I am sprouting. Growing and growing into something more. I don’t know if I’ll ever feel more like a tree than I do like a sprout.
There is a moment.
When the sprout bursts from the bean, and the bean is no longer a bean. The green shoot bursting through the surface.
It is both.
That’s a beautiful moment. The simple bean transformed into something quite alien in appearance. A gorgeous metamorphosis, from one to the other.
I like the sprout and I like the bean.
I like when Joanna sings about the difference between.
I’d be tempted to leave the decision up to her. I feel like she knows much more about the matter.
So I refuse the choice. You cannot have one without the other.
I will always love you. The sprout and the bean.
And the one in between.
I will sing your praises, beautiful little beansprout, for you are much of everything to me.
You will grow.
Like we all do.
Illustration on a napkin by Lucy.