The garden was beautiful and quiet this morning.
Not the eerie kind of quiet . No.. it was a rare kind of quiet.. not just peaceful, but reverent. The sky hung really low with silver and grey clouds, making us aware of the kind of rain that normally promised to fall but never actually followed through.
The kind that watched. Waited. Listened.
I moved slowly among my delicate roses, my gloved hands cradling the stems with practiced care so as not to ruin my little ones. The petals were flushed with deep crimson, some were flushed with snowy white, their velvety folds heavy with dew.
I favored these Bloodwine roses and snowflake roses, as Mira normally called them and I had bred them well to bloom despite the cold.
Just... Like me.
'The sky seems to be whispering words to us. It's unf
