Each year, as faithful friends do, crocus flowers, as pretty as they are ephemeral, are born. They give their all, sensitive and generous, to offer their three bright red stigmas, the colour of fire, a reflection of their land. The difficult labour suddenly takes on its full meaning, raking and removing rocks from this soil abandoned for so long. Farmers dig, plant, weed and repeat these gestures in a millennial-old ritual. Protecting as a mother does, this nature's offering, finally picking and peeling the flowers by hand, drying the precious pistils and watching them turn a golden red. Above all, the secret is that saf fron is harvested with the heart..