In our greenhouse, fragile ideas grow in small pots scattered across wooden tables.
The air is humid, sleeves get damp, and the soil sticks under our nails.
Nothing is too tiny to tend to: we mist beginnings with spray bottles,
label them with shaky handwriting, and move them closer to the light when they tremble.
There is a bench for repotting doubts, a sink for rinsing failed attempts,
and shelf space for every idea that needs a bit more tending to before it can stand on its own.