The bird stopped long enough to help herself to a round crimson rose hip then flew off. It was a blustery sort of day and she wanted to get home to her cozy nest before the storm swept in. As she battled against the wind some of the seeds fell over a forested area but she clamped her strong little beak on the rind which was the part she was most fond off anyway. The seeds drifted slowly to the ground. They fell into the carpet-like layer of leaves until the snowflakes covered them softly from view. The seeds nestled in deeper and fell asleep throughout the long winter. When the warm rays of the sun gently stirred the leaves in springtime, some of the seeds had settled in too deeply to notice, some became tasty snacks for insects or rodents but a few sent out tender shoots and roots although no one was around to notice. The few that popped through the surface grew slowly and when the canopy of leaves blocked out of the sun, most of them drooped and were too weak to survive. One was blessed with a sufficiently large patch of sunshine for most of the daylight hours to grow sturdily on. One day a woodsman strolled through the forest on the day the plant happened to unfurl her first delicate blossom. The hiker was a plant-lover at heart and wisely refrained from plucking the flower, let alone the plant, but carefully marked the area so he could return from time to time to see if the seedling was flourishing. The delicate plant had too much competition so the woodman strategically trimmed a branch or two to let in more light, and in his wisdom found more ways to nurture the growth. No one but him knew how well the sturdy little plant was flourishing and it brought a sparkle to His eyes.
I am that tiny plant. I have grown up shy and quiet, hidden by the towering extroverts surrounding me, but I, too, have a place to fill.