I have always been drawn to Jack-in-the-pulpit, and to the damp-wood aromas and dappled light of its habitat. I revere this plant’s stately, regal posture. I relate to its protective secrecy, growing beneath shady forest canopy, beneath its own leafy umbrella, its flowers still further embraced within and shielded beneath its own hooded cloak. On a forest walk in early spring, I found myself in awe. Spearing skyward, I was surrounded by the largest community of Jack-in-the-pulpit I had ever seen. Beholding their striking size and beautifully mottled colours, I fell in love. My creative course was set.
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