It's a custom in Iran to pay a visit to the graves of the deceased people on days of holy men's martyrdom. I and my family were praying for my father's soul. I noticed a delicate seedling growing at the head of a stranger's grave. I immediately borrowed my cousin's iPhone 7plus and ran toward the scene. The seedling reminded me of a poem I used to read back in days of my education in university in English literature. It was about a soldier who was killed in war and his body was buried in a foreign country. After awhile, a tree grew out of that burial sight. I think the figure of the killed soldier who transformed into a tree made parallel correspondence with the seedling growing at the head of the stranger's grave. It was as if this man out of all other people was experiencing some sort of metamorphosis. This seedling was an extension of the man's spirit in another form to my eye.