Independence, According to a Plant

June ran bright; July runs hot. You're up before your alarm, out past dinner, the pavement holding heat long after it should have let go. Everything alive with legs spends the month in retreat: the shade, the shore, the cold side of the pillow, the one room with the good air conditioning. Summer in the city is choreography around a single instinct — when it gets to be too much, leave.

A plant can't.

It lives and dies in one spot, and takes July full on. No shade to step into. No better soil down the block. No glass of water it can pour for itself. So what does it do?

It becomes a chemist.

Unable to run from the sun, a plant makes its own sunscreen like pigments that sit in the leaf and absorb ultraviolet light before it can do damage. Planted in poor soil, it manufactures what it cannot go and find. Under stress such as drought, heat, too much sun, it doesn't wilt or quit. The harder the summer, the richer its chemistry.

A plant is perhaps the most independent thing alive: it supplies everything it needs. 

In a plant, beauty is not only decoration but also function, with a long history of keeping something alive. That's why Biography is built on active, elegant, and purposeful plant oils. We hand your skin's a plant's thriving code, refined over a few hundred million years of having no other option.

So when your skin shows the summer sun you caught it isn't damage to correct. It's your anthology and that anthology asks for care, not panic. Yours is already precious, intelligent and worthy of excellent things.

That's the independence July teaches: not just surviving, but thriving.     

Happy Summer.
— Linda