I watch how a seed, lifted from her pod, lays herself down for winter, to weather white storms in blackness. She’s dismissed all together, forgotten by the world above, yet enveloping an ethereal equation for begetting life from below. The darkness of the clay, where her roots take hold, keeps her from being consumed. Through the dead of winter, she waits… and in a divinely calculated moment, she’ll uncoil her magic, springing to life once again.

~Joy