The Seed Pod

Beneath the slatted garden bench, the brick gave way to cool, packed earth. A dried poppy pod lay resting against the weathered wood, its papery stem curled like a hook. I paused... tilting slightly forward to listen. Nothing stirred. With one deliberate nudge of my side, I pushed the brittle pod across a flat slate pebble. A faint, dry rattle whispered from inside—tiny seeds shifting against papery walls. It rolled two inches and settled softly into a patch of dry moss. I shuffled close and rocked back on my heels, waiting for the quiet to settle.