Chapter 11
Oils and Creams
Mon Cher Journal,
I love looking out the window in springtime as the sun washes the garden with a golden glow and the snow-frosted coating of winter melts from the grass and flowers.
My garden has also now a pond and there I can see the frog spawns glistening like mini moons in its shallow waters. They even have tiny, almost invisible dark spots—as if they could be as old and alien as the moon itself.
Around the pond, snowdrops and bluebells burst from the earth so the buzzing bees can surf them, as seeking pollen, floating grains of pixie dust, scattered by the blustery wind.
Gardens remind me of life and love and magic—and Salvatore.
But it has been raining non-stop for a week and my depression was settling back again.
I was in a bad mood since yesterda
