Regardless of what we think of them, the plants keep rising — through broken earth, through poisoned rain, reaching always toward the sun. In this fragile planetary moment, they offer us another way of being alive: quiet, ancient, and fiercely green. They are not scenery. Not decoration. Not machines built to serve us. They breathe oxygen into our lungs, turn sunlight into sugar, and build our bodies from the light they gather. Before our first …
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