The seed lay many days in the hot glare of late summer and many nights in the cold of the moon's pale glow.  It became hard like a pebble, so that it looked like other specks on the ground, or a tiny chunk of roadway kicked by a boy's shoe.

When the first rains came, the water ran off the pavement and turned the roadside to mud.  The seed and a few foxtails and a faded pink gum wrapper floated quietly in a thick brown pool.  In the morning two dogs ran by, and the hind foot of the smaller one pushed the watermelon seed deep into the ground.