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The fiery scarlet and gold of autumn leaves, a fleeting glimpse of the Himalayan maple’s glory, fueled my obsession. Seeds, stubbornly dormant, whispered secrets of the mountain’s embrace, their germination a test of patience not unlike scaling a Himalayan peak. Cuttings, fragile slivers of hope, battled fungal foes, each tiny root a hard-won victory against the odds. The scent of damp earth and the subtle caress of new growth – these were the rewards, the quiet triumph after months of painstaking care. To coax life from a cutting, to witness the unfolding of a miniature Himalayan marvel, is an experience that transcends mere horticulture; it’s a communion with nature’s stubborn beauty.