The world was still new, the earth was still young, humanity was still barely east of Eden. And deep in virgin forests, unseen by human eye, untrod by human foot, a gentle fern was summoned forth from the soil. Its fronds were perfectly symmetrical, its leaves were vibrant green, it was uniquely patterned with the most delicate of veins.
When the sun broke through the trees above, it illumined the fern with beams of gold. When the dews fell in the quiet of night, they topped it with crowns of silver. When the winds blew upon it, it fluttered and danced with joy. It was but a little fern, but it was the delight of its Maker.
But a day came when the thunders rolled and the rocks split. A day came when the earth quaked and the mountains heaved. A day came when the skies above and the deeps beneath broke open in mighty torrents and floods. That little fern succumbed to the waves and was buried and compressed, encased in clay. Like all humans and like all animals, it perished.
Yet the clay that encased that fern also protected it. As the clay dried and
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