Max was awed by her seriousness. “Everything?” he said.
“Yes.” She picked up a little twig and began to stir the loose earth absent-mindedly. “Now—this time of year are great things going on down there—in the dark. A great fight for life. All the leetle seeds hear the spring birds sing ant they feel the warm sun coming; ant something tells them, ‘Come up! Come up! Come quick before it iss too late.’”
“Too late?” Max repeated when she dropped into silence.
“There iss so much for seeds to do in one summer, to feed themself with air, sun, water, that makes them to grow; to make flower ant seed; ant to put in every leetle seed also enough to last it through the long winter.”
It seemed strange to Max that she should speak of a mere seed as if it were sentient.
“So many seeds, so many new leetle roots growing, sometimes so leetle rain ant so hard the ground—it iss all one big fight, pushings, pullings, to see who first gets to the top, to the light.”
“I don’t see how they know when to start—the little seeds shut up in the dark down there.”
“Their soul tells them.”
“Soul?” Max asked, startled.
“Yes. In all things, behind everything living iss soul.”