You feel like you've stepped into an old apothecary shop.  Jars and jars of herbs, dried flowers, gnarly broken down roots, and strange powders line the shelves. 

You run your hands across the line of pots, marveling at the wealth of healing magics birthed from the earth.  Each herb is a little miracle, made from dirt and sunlight and water--tiny seeds brought to life by sheer willpower and raised through the ground for no other reason than a will to see the light, breathe in the fresh air that tickles their leaves and feeds their roots. These glorious specimens contain the life force of all they sucked in through their roots, all they absorbed through their leaves. 

You have a list of herbs you need.  More raspberry leaf for women's health, along with some hops and skullcap for a sleepy time tea recipe you are concocting.  You allow yourself to be seduced by the jar of nettle leaves, the prickly thing known best for its sting, but is, at heart, a gentle tonic for the system.  You also get taken in by rose hips, more robust than the fragile petals of their flower, an unsung nutritional powerhouse.

You watch the herbalists measure out and weigh your selection, while you contemplate how you will use these new herbs in blends and simple steeps.  You can't wait to get home and unwrap your little bundles of herbs and pour them into your own jars, your own collection of earth's healing magic.