by Dan Leonard

Above ground,
blossoms danced in sunlight.
Birds sang songs.
Grass shimmered.
Everyone noticed.

But beneath leaves,
beneath rocks,
beneath all those feet—
did anyone ever notice?

Root wondered—

What does a root even do?

And so—
Root began reaching.

Slowly.
Quietly.
And humbly—
humming all the while.

Hmm-mm…
hmm-mm-mm…

Ant tunnel places.
Tangled up and wet places.
Cold clay places.
Scary places.

Root wanted them all.
Or thought so.

Wherever Root went,
little things gathered.

Worms stretched in Root’s cool shade.
Beetles crossed Root like a bridge.
Seeds tucked in close.

And all around Root was Camo—
dark one day,
sandy the next,
muddy when he pleased,
dry when he had to be.

“Weather keeps me interesting,”
Camo mumbled.

Root liked Camo.
Mostly because Camo never minded humming.

Sometimes Root stretched high enough
to peek above ground.

Above was bright.
Warm.
Windy.
Loud.
Beautiful.

And fast.
Very fast.

One day—
a shell hurried by.

Four quick feet.
Orange flashes.
Gone.

“Dash,”
Root called.

The box turtle stopped.
Looked down.

“Dash,” she said.
“Sounds about right.”

Dash stretched her neck,
shook her shell,
breathed real deep.

“In the zone.”

And off—
eventually—
she went.

As she passed, Dash smiled.

“Catchy little tune.”

Root smiled—
and hummed a little louder.

Hmm-mm…
hmm-mm-mm…

Root watched in wonder.

Then—

green lightning.

Measure.
Grab.
Pull.
Wink.
Gone.

“Roots alive…”

“Inchworm,” said Dash.

“Fast.”

“Real fast.”

From below—

“Showing off,”
chuckled Camo.

Root found a crack in Rock.

Dark.
Cool.
Mysterious.
Nearly perfect.

Root squeezed in.

Farther.
Tighter.

Stuck.

Glue stuck.

Wiggle.
Push.

Nothing.

“Oh, roots.”

Camo sighed:

“Rock and a hard place.”

A rainy soak softened Camo.

POP.

Root sprang free.

Slightly crooked.

But kept reaching—

Hmm-mm…

One bright day Root reached high—
higher than ever—
into warm sunshine.

Wonderful.

Then—

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

Grass flew.
Earth shook.
Steel teeth flashed overhead.

Root dove down fast.

Root thought—

Inchworm fast.

Then—

checked its root hairs.

Deep underground—
quietly shaking—

“My roots…”

Camo:

“That’s a grass eater.”

Root decided:

Above was beautiful.

But scary.

Wild scary.

Later—
Root stretched quietly
just beneath the surface.

Not high enough to peek.
Not deep enough to hide.

Still reaching.
Still humming.

Then—

tap.
Tap tap.

A shell gently knocked above.

“Found you,”
said Dash.

Root smiled.

“How?”

Dash stretched her neck
and looked down
at the little hump
running through the grass.

A tiny ripple.

She smiled.

“Wherever there’s a ripple,
there’s a root.”

Then she listened.

Soft and steady—

Hmm-mm…
hmm-mm-mm…

Dash nodded.

“There’s that tune.”

Then Dash took a deep breath,
set her game face—

“In the zone.”

And off—
eventually—
she went.

Root smiled.
And kept reaching.

Later—

“Making great time,”
Root boasted.

Dash paused.

Paused longer.

“Where to?”

“Whisper Creek.”

Dash blinked.

“Turn around.”

Camo chuckled:

“Upside down compass.”

“Oh, roots.”

One crooked bend later—
Root turned around.

And kept on moving.

Season after season—

spring songs,
summer shines,
fall whispers,
and winter still—

Another ring,
thought Root.

And softly—

Hmm-mm…
hmm-mm-mm…

Then—

the rains stopped.

Dry.
Gray cracked earth.

Whisper Creek barely whispered.

Even the last little blade of grass
was almost gone.

No new ring.

Root curled inward.

Quiet.
Lost.

No hum.

“I’m over.
Finished.
Oh... roots.”

Silence.

From somewhere close,
Camo muttered—

“Thought we lost you.”

And deep down inside—
Dash’s easy voice:

“Just keep reaching.”

Then—
the faintest little hum—

Hmm…

Root stretched.

One last time.

Coolness touched Root’s honey-brown tip.

Whisper Creek.

Water flowed in—
and suddenly—
Root remembered.

Spring blossoms opening.
Summer shade spreading wide.
Birdsong drifting down.
Rain gathered by shining leaves.
Countless roots reaching below.
A great living family.

And Root—
belonged.

A new ring quietly formed.

Deep below—
soft and steady—

Hmm-mm…
hmm-mm-mm…

Dash carried home.

Root had always been home.

And humbly—
happily—
Root kept reaching.