Each plant has a unique story. A plant doesn’t know its story – maybe it does, but tales of the hunt often glorify the hunter. A young avocado sprout is picked along the graveyard garbage pit. Its brownish leaves sizzle in the afternoon sun. They survive. It survives. Because someone adopted it to tender care, now it rumbles its leaves in this vibrant vigour. It dances to the wind...
I had always imagined myself many times, aboard a plane, going on a vacation to some pretty island with long white beaches. Here I was now in a plane, drifting through the air, looking at the white clouds as I lifted away from a place I called home. ‘Called’, because right now, I’m set on a mission to find a new home, like stepping out of Ur, for Canaan. Scary even, is the thought that I had left...
