In the beginning, all was dark. The Earth, along the edges of the canvas, is black, born of the first lavas. A world among countless others, a sphere of ashes in an ink-dark sky.
Then one day, something trembled. Perhaps a moss, perhaps a lichen. A tiny green spark rose from the depths.
Curled upon its seed, it slowly unfolded. The patience of the invisible at work, it smoothed each leaflet, one by one, ironed every crease.
And the Earth, beneath its gestures, grew veined with life. Each fold made her more vegetal, more green, more singular within the weave of the mineral.
And at the heart of every fold, a golden halo rose, the shimmer of life awakening. A nimbus in the dawn of vegetation.