After being blown off its father by a prying wind, snatched up into the rough claws of a sparrow, stolen away by a chittering squirrel, and dropped into a stream, the seed finally found itself half-buried in warm loam.
Knowing it had finally come to a place where it should sprout, for hours the seed heaved against its husk. But nothing happened.
The seed gave up in exhaustion and slowly leaned into the most undisturbed sleep it had ever known. While it thought of nothing, only feeling the dark soil around, the first green tendril, blind and rubbery, broke through.