I love ferns for their effortless beauty, the way they unfurl, the dainty fractal details. But like all things they wilt and decay. So that’s what this box is. There’s a shadow of the former beauty of the plants, and physical remanence of them. The wrath of nature, the power of the natural cycle to inevitably rot. But there’s hope, there’s beauty, in the idea that the impact still remains, the outline of the former self, and who we are now. For who we grow to become we may interpret as regression, without realizing our true growth. But the wrath of nature is beautiful.