A tiny seed was pressed into damp earth beneath the first blush of dawn. A faint chill was felt in the air, and a gentle patter of water was allowed to soak the soil. Rustling leaves were heard nearby, and a hint of fresh grass was carried on the breeze. “It must be protected,” was often whispered by worried voices, though no faces were seen. A tense pause was experienced when dark clouds drifted overhead. Harsh winds were stirred, and cold drops of rain were scattered across the fragile sprout. For a moment, loss was feared.

Yet, as the storm receded, soft rays of sunlight were extended once more. New warmth was given to the tiny plant, and new leaves were sent unfurling. Steady care was maintained under quiet vigilance. Soon, blossoms were revealed in bursts of color, and a sweet, earthy scent was caught by passersby. In the end, succulent fruit was cradled by sturdy vines, and hushed wonder was shared around the flourishing garden. Thus, a harvest was quietly celebrated, and gratitude was felt for the seed that had thrived against all odds.