Seedling.

I have only one recurring dream: I am in a room with giants. My clothing is green and I imagine that I look something like a small bean in the eyes of those large, lovely beings towering above me. One drops to her gargantuan knees. (I tremble. I am only a small, trembling bean to be planted.) She plunges one finger through the tile, as though it is no feat at all; I am shocked to find that there is damp, dark soil beneath the thin linoleum tiles. Smiling, the giantess scoops me up with her fingertips. I tumble roughly into the palm of her cupped right hand. I am near her face as she crouches, childlike, admiring her new companion. Her face is familiar—her eyes are blue and her hair is blonde. I cannot find her place in my memory. And so suddenly I am descending! The hole her finger has made is plenty large enough for my small body; I am quickly covered in soft, sponge-like soil.

There is no light, no sound for a very long time. I wait for spring so very, very patiently--singing and smiling to myself. I am ecstatic, for I understand what is soon coming.

And then it is here. I feel myself sprouting roots, growing larger by the moment. I burst from the soil, through the linoleum tiles, stretching my enormous limbs and laughing. The giants have returned to watch me emerge. We dance as one around the room (twirling quickly, gracefully), and I am new and bright and whole.