A seed sleeps, buried deep with dried soil granules, away from those of its species. Bored underground, it adapts and emerges, just to see itself in a slightly modified form, blending in beautifully with the rest. The branches, the leaves not entirely hers, but at least it was fun waltzing to the breeze in the dark of the night, rustling with her buddies close by. Few months pass, a bud grows but it never blooms - its deep purple core does not go well with the flood of blue blossoms around her.

If the seed could retract itself, it would wait patiently for the thunderstorm to wash it back to where it belongs - now it is too late.

I am a few feet underground.