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.