Jimmy loved mornings. He loved the way the sun came through the kitchen window and made squares of gold on the floor. He loved the sound of birds outside. But most of all, Jimmy loved his grandmother’s garden.

Every spring, Grandma Rose planted sunflowers, pumpkins, and herbs. The garden was always bursting with color. “Patience is the secret,” Grandma Rose would say. “You plant the seed. You water it. And then you wait.”

This year, Grandma Rose handed Jimmy a small brown envelope. Inside were tiny seeds, no bigger than crumbs. “These are yours,” Grandma said. “Your very own sunflower seeds.”

Jimmy ran outside and dug a hole with his fingers. He dropped the seeds in, pushed the dirt back, and poured a whole watering can over the spot. “Done!” he said, wiping his hands on his shorts.

The next morning, Jimmy ran to the garden before breakfast. He looked at the dirt. Nothing. Just flat, brown dirt. “Where are they?” he asked.

Grandma Rose smiled. “They’re working,” she said. “You just can’t see it yet. Under the soil, the roots are stretching out. Give them time.”

Jimmy checked every single day. Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday! Still nothing. He started to wonder if the seeds were broken.

Then, Sunday afternoon, Jimmy almost didn’t go outside. But he did. And there, poking through the dirt, was one tiny green stem. It was no bigger than his pinky.

“Grandma! Grandma, come look!” Jimmy shouted. He jumped up and down. Grandma Rose came outside slowly, leaning on her cane. She looked down and smiled. “See? It was working the whole time.”

Every day after that, Jimmy watered his sprout. He talked to it. He even read it a story once, which made Grandma laugh. The stem grew taller. Leaves appeared. It leaned toward the sun.