The Distant Garden

added blog Literature

2026-08-20 01:42:39 -

The garden was not a place. It was a line. A straight, white line drawn across the lawn of my ancestral home. I stood by the window. The rain tapped against the glass. It was a steady, rhythmic sound. Like a clock counting down. My hands were still. They were old hands. They had held many things. Books. Tools. The hand of a woman who was gone. Now they held only the silence. I am a scholar. I...

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