The first thing I saw was wrong. Not dangerous. Not dramatic. Just… wrong enough to stop me cold in my own hallway. One ordinary walk, one casual brush against the edge of a trail, and suddenly my pant leg appeared to be covered with tiny, clinging mysteries. They weren’t dirt. They weren’t dust.
For a moment, I wondered what I had picked up outside and whether I should be concerned. But by the time I understood what had happened, the fear had already faded into something else: a kind of stunned respect. Those stubborn little specks weren’t invaders or parasites at all. They were passengers—burrs and seed pods designed by nature to cling tightly to fabric and fur. And the reason they had attached themselves to me was surprisingly clever.
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