The world feels larger down under the grass. Down here in the lacy frost palaces and below winter’s threadbare blanket of dead leaves is a secret world where tiny violets whisper. Their voices are candy-sweet, mingling with the herbal green breath of cool damp earth. Soft, heart-shaped leaves reveal royal purple petals scattered with butter yellow light like a fairy’s velvet gown. A pixie can lose hours here, low to the ground, watching the tiny things adults never notice. Brand new Forget-me-nots glimmer like shards of sky fallen to earth, miniature and perfect. The paths through the undergrowth are carved by a soft hallucinogenic magic—fragile and labyrinthine.