Every Blade

Every blade of grass has its angel
that bends over it and whispers,
"Grow, grow."
The Talmud

I came across this quotation several years ago.
I've always thought it innocently playful,
   like the mental image it conjures.
A tiny sprite leaning over every blade,
   bobbing to and fro,
      a miniature cupped hand to its miniature mouth.
A chorus of elfin voices softly repeating
   "grow...grow...grow...grow"
      until it sounds like a high-pitched "ommmmm."
Blades of grass rousing themselves,
   stretching themselves,
      reaching upward.
All a bit fanciful, I'd say.
A bit over the edge.
And yet...
Is that image much more over the edge,
   when you get right down to it,
      than the image of the deep, rich color of green,
         rather than no color at all ever being created?
Any more over the edge
   than the amazing molecular structure
      that goes into every single blade of grass?
Any more over the edge
   than how each blade is a photosynthesis factory,
      turning sunlight into chemical energy
         in a surprisingly complex way?
Any more over the edge
   than how each blade innately knows
      when to come to life each spring,
         when to return to rest each fall?
Maybe creation itself is one breathtakingly enormous angel,
   whispering, "Go ahead, grow."