From Seed

 
There is something primordially satisfying about growing plants from seed.  Their fragile beginnings as tiny sprouts, then seedlings, so endlessly imperfect and variant in size and shape, tug a bit at one's heartstrings.  It is in their tiny-ness that my looming largeness is reflected back to me: my less-than-gentle watering techniques, the accidental over watering, and the strength of my fingertips upon touching (and then bending) a newly-formed leaf are not lost on me.  This microcosm of plant and human life, the relationship between cultivator and cultivatee, is frenzied, blurred--sometimes I feel like I am the one being taught, cultivated into a gentler, more patient soul. 

Growing plants from seed takes time, and time is something that, as a whole, our modern world highly values, but also fears.  This is aptly shown in the collective yearning for more time in a day, a year, etc., and conversely, in the collective fear of aging.  Watch a butterfly flit back and forth from flower to flower, yard to yard.  Step outdoors and inhale deeply; watch the ever-growing plants on your windowsill.  Time momentarily, bravely, stands still.