ET- Plant Communication

He turned, and saw the vegetable garden.

Its leaves and stems moved in shy patterns of friendliness; sobbing, he crept toward them and embraced an artichoke.

Hiding in the vegetable bed, he took counsel with the plants. Their advice, to go look in the kitchen window, was not welcome.

I’m in all this trouble, he signaled the plant, because of wanting to peek in windows. I can’t repeat such folly.

The artichoke insisted, grunting softly, and the extraterrestrial crept off obediently, eyes whizzing around in fearful circles.
...

Overwhelmed, he crept away, needing to rest his brain in the vegetable patch. He’d peeked into Earth windows before, yes, but never from so close, never partaking so intimately of the bizarre thought patterns of the people.

But they are only children, said a nearby cucumber.
...

The extraterrestrial dove between rows of vegetables and flattened himself out there, arranging a few leaves over his protruding shape.

There’s nothing to fear, said a tomato plant. It’s only the Pizza Wagon.

Not knowing what a Pizza Wagon might be, the extraterrestrial remained in the leaves.

The Wagon stopped in front of the house. A door in the house opened and he saw an Earthling emerge.

That’s Elliott, said the green beans. He lives here.

The extraterrestrial peeked over the leaves. The Earthling was only slightly taller than he was. But the Earthling’s legs, of course, were grotesquely long and his stomach did not hang on the ground in the elegant manner of certain higher life forms—but he was not too terribly frightening to behold.

The boy went down the driveway and out of sight.

Go around the side, said the tomato. You’ll get a good view of him returning.

But the dog—

The dog is tied, said the tomato. He ate Mary’s overshoes.
...

He’d trapped himself, but there were tools in the shed, a digging fork with which to defend himself. In many ways it resembled tools from his Ship, for gardening is gardening. He gripped its handle in his long fingers and prepared to meet his attacker. A cornered intergalactic botanist is not someone to trifle with.

Don’t stab yourself in the foot, said a little potted ivy.

He braced. From the garden he felt the mental wave of a nearby orange tree, as one of its fruits was plucked by the Earth child.

A moment later the fruit hurtled into the toolshed, and struck him in the chest.

- E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial in His Adventure on Earth, chapter 2