A Seed

There's magic in a seed, he thought, contemplating the endless expanse of purple and green. Morning glory. It seemed a single sprawling organism, lounging lazily upon the landscape, little minding where its tendrils trailed, reaching this way and that, grasping, climbing, advancing on every front. 

A good acre and a half, at least.

Infinity plant, he mused. No end. No beginning.

But of course there was a beginning; everything had a beginning.

A seed. Yes. A single magic seed.

But where'd that seed come from?

Maybe an old farmhouse once stood here. A farmhouse with a fabulous trellis of morning glory...

A memory stirs. 

Saturday. Late morning. Long dirt driveway. Barefoot.
Cornfield on one side, lespedeza on the other.

First pole...second pole...Race you!...Toes digging deep in the cool sand...third pole...mailbox!

What'd we get!? 

Me first! No, Me! Let me look!

Catalog! 

Cool. Seed Catalog.

Seed catalog. What was the name...Burpee? 

Maybe. It's been a long time. 

One thing's sure, those catalog seeds had powerful magic.

 

Watermelons that wouldn't fit in the trunk of your car, tomatoes the size of cantaloupes, dahlias the size of dinner plates, magnificent hybrid marigolds and a dozen varieties of "vigorous growing" morning glory.

Remarkable thing, a seed.
He'd never really thought much about it before.

But as he watched the speed limit sign warp under the weight of this wild and wonderful weed, he imagined thousands of feet of vine and blossom and leaf wound up tightly inside a single tiny capsule. How much would a thing like that weigh, he wondered, few hundred pounds?

Bet ol' Burpee would charge you an arm and a leg to ship a whole packet of those things!

A seed.
Next year's landscape all packed up in a tiny little dried and shriveled packet of potential.
What'll they think of next?!

Photo credit: Hunter Randolph