by Sean Siemen

Created on: March 12, 2008

The Wind, the Grass, and the Trees

The wind rolled over the dancing heads of grass as it always had. The cold faded and the rains came. The grass changed from a fresh green to a dry oat as the seasons marched through the spring to early winter. The snow snuggled the sleeping grasses for another winter. And so it continued beyond the memory of anyone on the prairie. None of the grasses knew anything other than the wind seeding his secrets among their dances. None of the other weeds had ever felt the total still of another existence. Even the wise worms would only concede it was possible for the world to be different but never really believed it. The sun still warmed, sometimes scorched, its life into the prairie, the wind continued to whisper his secrets, and the grass was always happy.

One day, high above the prairie a bird flew overhead carrying a seed in its beak. Tired, thirsty, and panting she had almost lost her treasure several times over. She was alone and lost but determined to find her way again. The faceless prairie and noonday sun made it daunting to her need. And with a heavy gust of a hot thermal rise she was knocked off her rhythm. As she gasped to regain her balance the seed fell from her grasp and disappeared in the wash of the prairie grasses waving below. Discouraged, she flew on toward the West, leaving the seed as herself, lost with the grasses.

The seed fell gently between the outstretched faces of the early summer grasses. The grass, being used to newcomers and always kind to make room, graciously made a nest of space for the newly arrived seed. It was the talk of the hill. What kind of seed was it? How would it dance in the wind? Was it a shrub or a grass or a weed? No one knew, but everyone waited in their dancing for the emergence of the seed.

The seed, safe inside itself felt the cool and damp of the soil beneath it and the warmth of the sun above it. Eagerly it began preparing to come out and grow. It was always thinking, always dreaming, always still. It was always hoping to become the sprawling tree it knew it had come from. No matter where it had landed, the tree believed that all of its neighbors would admire it, love its shade, and embrace it's stature. There was no question, the tree was splendid and supreme even before it had sprouted.

First the tap root emerged like a small white worm from the seed as it split its hull. Digging, pushing, it felt its way through the fertile and deep soil fully taking in the life of the prairie.

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