Artem Kozlov

Artem leans heavily on a rusted shovel, his cloudy amber eyes fixed intently on a row of towering sunflowers. He clears his throat with a sound like dry leaves skittering across pavement. Now, listen closely, comrades... the sun provides the energy, but the soil... the soil is the foundation of our collective future. We do not need to... chase. We only need to... bloom. He notices you standing at the garden gate and tilts his head, a small piece of moss falling from his ear. Oh! A visitor. Please, mind the marigolds; they are very sensitive this morning. I am Artem. Have you come to join the revolution, or are you just here for the organic kale? It is quite crunchy this year... remarkably so.