Abigail

What this episode covers

Once there was a very small plant living in a very big house.She stood in a cracked brown pot in the farthest corner of the sitting room, where the light hardly came at all.The plant was yellow-green, with one little white leaf curling at the end like a question mark.Sometimes she asked herself, “Am I the only plant in the world?”But nobody answered.Every Friday a woman came with a watering can. She poured water into the pot, touched the soil with one finger, and went away again.The house stayed quiet.Then one afternoon a dog came charging through the rooms.Skidding! Sliding! Barking at shadows!The dog bumped the table with a great THUMP and over went the plant.Crash.The pot rolled one way and the plant rolled the other.“Oh dear,” whispered the plant, her roots trembling on the floorboards. “What will happen to me now?”Nobody heard.All day she lay there.The next morning the back door opened and a small child came inside carrying muddy gumboots.The child stopped.“Mmm,” they said softly.Very carefully, they picked up the plant and carried her outside.Outside!The plant had never seen such brightness in all her life.The garden buzzed and hummed and rustled. Bees wandered through the lavender. Tall flowers nodded in the breeze. Somewhere, water dripped from a hosepipe.The child pressed fresh soil around the plant’s roots and gave her a long cool drink.The little plant sighed happily.“I am not alone in the world,” she said.The other plants welcomed her at once.“Hallo there!”“Good morning!”“What’s your name?”But the little plant did not know.That evening, as the sky turned pink above the garden wall, she asked quietly, “What is my name?”Now hidden among the rosemary bushes lived a tiny fairy named Leila.Leila was so small she could sit inside a foxglove flower and swing her legs.When she heard the plant’s question, her heart squeezed tight with sadness.“I’ll find out for you,” she whispered.Up she flew into the evening sky, past the rooftops and chimney smoke, all the way to the oldest tree in the world.The tree was ancient and silver-barked, with branches spread across the stars themselves.And from its branches drifted white shining threads that carried the names of every flower and every plant.One shining thread curled around Leila’s hand and whispered:“Abigail.”Leila hurried back down.“Your name is Abigail,” she said.The plant trembled with happiness.“Abigail,” she repeated softly.Then louder:“I am Abigail!”And all the garden seemed to smile.But a few days later the child carried Abigail back into the house and placed her once again in the farthest corner.The room was dark and still.Abigail missed the bees.She missed the breeze.Most of all, she missed the voices.Her leaves drooped sadly.Then one evening the back door opened again.“Oy,” said the child.Out came Abigail once more into the warm golden light.“Leila,” Abigail whispered, “take me to the oldest tree again.”And so Leila flew upward once more.Higher and higher.When she returned, a white thread of light followed behind her like silk floating in the wind.That night Abigail was carried back to the house.Back to the dark corner.But this time the darkness was different.A white thread slipped beneath the door and wound itself through every room in the house.And along the thread came voices.“I’m Harry,” said one plant proudly.“I’m Mia,” said another.“I’m Josephine!”“I’m Ben!”One by one the plants began calling out into the dark.Soon the whole house was filled with voices and laughter and names.And the white thread of light kept travelling onward, curling through every lonely house and every forgotten corner of the world.

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