A Sprouting Seedling

I nudged a small green plastic watering spritzer aside with my shoulder to clear a path. Yesterday’s winged seed had split open overnight in the damp soil. I planted all four stout feet firmly at the edge of the shallow wooden box, leaning my snout down to inspect the pale green curl rising from the dark earth. A cool morning draft rustled across my bulb, and I let out a low, steady rumble of approval. Everything was growing, slow and sure.