On those cold days in late fall, with winter moving in, a simple bowl of vegetable soup keeps the winds at bay. As a boy I remember coming inside and smelling the soup being prepared. The memories mean home to me, even after all the seasons that have come and gone and come again.
If you look closely at the world it is revealed in ways both beautiful and unexpected. The first time you see the cells of an onion magnified with new eyes, the inner structures spring into focus — begging you to ask: “What are those dark spots like storms on Jupiter, or the periods at the foot of question marks?” Once asked, you are drawn into cellular mysteries which, with each telling, open the book into what it is to be alive and growing, under the earth.
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