The seed

Out of a clear sky on a warm summer day, the seed, who didn’t even know she could fly, fell into a pile of steaming dog poop.

seedAnd there she would have stayed and grown into a weed were it not for passing good fortune. The poop dried crusty hard, and a stiff wind rolled over and lifted her.

Airborne again, she headed toward the nearby sea.

Miles offshore she landed gently on the crest of a warm, blue wave. She didn’t even know she could swim. Life was full of surprises.

Days passed, and she changed. Swimming with ease, she morphed into a floating flower, and was last seen sailing into a sunset, singing.

12 thoughts on “The seed”

  1. I once called you the Seurat of prose. Maybe that should be the Sandburg of prose. I find it interesting that you claim to not like poetry. But you certainly write as a poet. Nice stuff.

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