The Gardener's Journal

This is where I gather what has been handed to me. Dreams that stay long after waking. Thoughts that press on the heart. Stories that whisper to what lies beneath the surface. Some arrive in sleep. Some in silence. All of them come from the soil, not the summit. My hands are still dirty from digging. If you are searching for meaning, beauty, or a quiet place to breathe, stay a while. Something may take root in you too.