The Garden within the House

Before there were names-father, mother, daughter, son-there was only the breath of love, spiraling through the soul's orchard, weaving us into each other like wind through wheat. This book is not a manual of family. It is a mirror of belonging. Each page is a lantern. Each word, a whisper from the eternal reedsinging of how we are never truly apart. Not in silence. Not in sorrow. Not even in death.
We are drops of the same sea-tasting life differently, but bound in essence. In writing these words, I did not seek to teach, but to remember. Not to instruct, but to burn gently beside youuntil we both see:family is the garden we walk barefoot, together, in God.