Theo and the Rain Seed

Theo was kneeling in the dirt behind the barn, poking a little hole with his finger. In his other hand he held one tiny seed. It was no bigger than a crumb.

"You're going to be a sunflower," he told it. "A tall one. Taller than Dad."

Theo wanted to plant that seed more than anything. He wanted to see a yellow flower on top of a long green stem.

Then he felt a drop on his nose. Plip. Dark clouds were rolling over the hill.

"Quick, quick," said Theo.

He tipped his hand over the hole. But the seed was so light that a puff of wind lifted it right off his palm. It skipped across the dirt. Theo scrambled after it and almost caught it. Then it hopped away again.

"Come back, little seed!"

It rolled under a wheelbarrow. It bounced past a boot. Each time Theo reached out, the seed slid off, just out of reach. The rain was coming faster now. Plip, plip, plip.

Theo sat down in the mud and thought. Chasing wasn't working. A seed that blows away needs something to hold it.

Then he noticed a little puddle by his trainers. The seed had landed right in the middle of it, and it was floating there like a tiny boat.

"Oh," said Theo. "You like the water."

He didn't grab. He scooped the puddle up in both hands, slowly, with the seed riding inside. He carried it back to his hole and poured the water in. Glug.

The seed sank down to the bottom, all wet and heavy. Now it couldn't blow anywhere.

Theo pushed the soft dirt over it and patted it flat. Pat, pat, pat.

"There," he said. "Stay."

He sat beside the little bump, with the rain drumming on the barn roof. Every drop that fell on the dirt made a small, quiet sound, like somebody tapping to say goodnight.