Like a Small Sprout.

When spring arrives, things that have been sleeping beneath the soil begin to stir, quietly.

In February, we sowed seeds—hollyhock, green pepper, and melon.

My daughter watered them and took care of them every day.

One morning, I found a tiny sprout emerging.

Still delicate and uncertain, yet it seemed to carry with it the quiet time it had spent in the soil.

The flowers I began growing a few years ago also sleep beneath the soil through the winter,

and in spring they send out their first new shoots.

Yamabuki, Ominaeshi, Shiran, and Fujibakama — each one beginning again in its own way.

In the small rhythm of everyday life, many things pass by without being noticed.

But when I look at a sprout that has just appeared from the soil, my attention gently returns to those small, quiet changes.

Watching these tiny sprouts, I realize that, just like my children, I too am still growing.

It has been five years since I became a mother.

Already five years—yet still only five.

There is still so much I have yet to learn.

Beside my children, I hope to keep growing, little by little.

When spring arrives, a new stretch of time begins again in the garden—like a small sprout.

Shiho Kanai

Art Director, Gallery Rin