Mia and the Tiny Seed

Mia was the only girl in Lean Tree Lane who could hear a seed breathe. She pressed her ear to a pea, and it went hush, hush. Nobody there found this odd. Her grandpa just nodded and said, "Of course it does."

Today Mia held the tiniest seed she had ever seen. It was as small as a crumb. Her grandpa had given it to her that morning.

"Plant it," he said. "See what it wants to be."

Mia wanted a flower. A big yellow one, as round as the sun. She ran to the garden behind the old leaning tree and dug a hole with a spoon. She dropped the seed in and covered it up.

Then she listened. Nothing. Not one hush.

"Maybe it's asleep," Mia said.

She waited. She waited some more. The dirt just sat there, brown and still.

So Mia tried something. She sang to the dirt. A loud song, with a boing in the middle. A worm popped up, looked at her, and went back down. The worm had only come up to stretch.

Then Mia tried something else. She poured a whole bucket of water on the spot. Splosh! Now the seed was in a puddle, and the puddle looked cross.

"Oh no," said Mia. She sat down in the mud. Her chin wobbled.

Then she noticed something. When she was quiet, she could hear a tiny sound from far down. Hush, hush. It was very soft.

"You're not asleep," Mia whispered. "You're just shy."

So she did not sing. She did not pour. She scooped the extra water away with her hands. Then she lay down on the grass beside the hole, as still as a stone, and listened.

Hush, hush.

The sound came a little bit louder, like a small voice saying, I'm here, I'm here.

Mia smiled. The sun warmed her back, the worm snored somewhere below, and the dirt breathed, hush, hush, hush.