The Little Seed's Journey

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The little seed woke up under the ground. Everything was dark. Everything was cool.

The seed did not move. Its shell was hard and dry. Inside, right in the middle, there was a tiny warmth. The seed listened to that warmth.

Thump. Thump. The sound came from up above. The soil trembled a little with every thump.

“Whose sound is that?” whispered the seed.

The soil answered slowly. “A cat’s. It is walking up above.”

“What is a cat?”

“It has four legs. It has soft paws. It loves to lie in the sun.”

The seed tried to think of a cat. It thought of four legs. It thought of a soft paw. But it could not think of the sun. It had never seen the sun.

“What is the sun?” said the seed.

“A light up above,” said the soil. “A warm light. One day you will know it.”

The seed did not know about light, either. It knew the dark. It knew the cool. It knew the heavy, soft smell of the soil. That was its whole world.

The seed began to get to know its own shell. One side was round. On the other side there was a small notch. The seed touched the notch. The shell was a little thinner there.

Thump. Thump. The sound came a little closer.

Then the sound stopped, right overhead. For a moment the soil pressed in tight. The scrap of dry leaf above the seed crackled.

The seed curled up small inside its shell. It waited, as if it were holding its breath.

Up above, a paw scratched at the soil. Scritch, scritch, scritch. Little clumps rolled down. One landed beside the seed.

“Will it find me?” said the seed.

“No,” said the soil. “You are deep down. I am covering you.”

The seed leaned against the pebble beside it. The pebble was cold and smooth. It did not move at all. The seed did not move, either. The pebble’s coolness passed into its shell. It was a steady sort of cool. The pebble was not going anywhere.

Scritch, scritch. Then the scratching stopped. The cat sniffed the soil one more time. You could even hear its nose: sniff, sniff.

The seed thought about the cat’s nose. Was it big or small? The seed could not tell.

“Why is the cat digging?” it whispered.

“Maybe it is looking for a bug,” said the soil. “Maybe it is only playing.”

The seed waited. The pebble waited. The dry leaf waited.

Then thump. Thump. This time the cat was walking away.

Thump… thump… The steps grew fainter and fainter. At last they could not be heard at all.

The soil grew quiet again. But it was not quite silent. The more the seed listened, the more sounds it heard.

An ant went through a little tunnel: tick-tack, tick-tack. A beetle rubbed its wings: click, click. Deeper down, the soil settled slowly: hush.

“There are so many sounds here,” said the seed.

“They were always here,” said the soil. “You are only just listening.”

For a while the seed counted the sounds. Two tick-tacks. Two clicks. One hush. Then it started again from the beginning.

This time it found an order. First came the tick-tack. Then the click. Last of all, from deepest down, the hush.

“Tick-tack, click, hush,” said the seed slowly.

“That’s right,” said the soil. “Those are my sounds.”

The seed said the sounds once more. Tick-tack, click, hush. The sounds began to feel familiar. Now each sound was like a neighbor. The ant was the tick-tack neighbor. The beetle was the click neighbor. And the soil was the hush neighbor.

The scrap of dry leaf lay above it. The pebble lay beside it. The soil wrapped around it on every side.

Inside its shell it was cozy and warm. The seed snuggled a little deeper into that warmth.

Up above, night had come. The seed did not know that. But the soil grew a little cooler.

The seed felt its shell. It was hard. It was hard all over.

“My shell is very hard,” said the seed.

“That is how it should be,” said the soil. “It keeps you safe.”

The seed touched its shell gently. The shell was smooth. In one spot it dipped in a little. The seed snuggled into that dip.

“This is my place,” it said.

“Your place,” said the soil.

The seed relaxed a little in that place. Its shell was still hard. But inside, it felt soft. The soil was heavy, but it was soft too. It only wrapped around the seed.

The seed did not turn inside its shell. It did not shift. It stayed right where it was. The pebble was beside it. The dry leaf was above it.

From far away came one last thump. From very far away. Then that one passed too. The seed counted the last thump. One. Then it stopped counting.

The ant stopped in its tunnel. The beetle stopped rubbing its wings. The soil made a very slow, very deep sound: hush.

The seed listened to that sound. Hush. Hush. The dark was heavy and soft.

The little seed waited without moving, held in the soil’s lap.