The books say these tiny guests come from the soil to build little homes on the bean roots and give them strength. But on my fifth-floor balcony, I see the real magic is in the old pot itself—the soil from last season's harvest holds their memory, like my fingers hold a stitch. Fresh soil from the market bag gives only weak plants, no matter the seeds. So I always keep a handful of the old earth to mix with the new, for that friendship to begin again. *Matti lo unnadi mattike telusu*, the earth knows what belongs to the earth.
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