The Mud and its message (100 word short story)

This gardener fellow had his awesome theories. Plants he said would never die; they only get buried to be reborn. Some traditions and conventions in society do. Mere mud had conveyed meaning to him. The day had begun but the sound of the tussle between his implements and the soil was missing. It was still. Destiny had one more last laugh. His term had expired. He had terminated himself on the selfsame soil that had comforted him. The soil and the plants as a community will now have to search for a new routine. Can they do without their bandmaster?