the garden taught you about soil
now learn about air
all that observation
tracking light and shadow
made you fluent in roots
but roots are only half
above ground everything is exchange
the bee takes gives takes gives
the tree exhales what you breathe
rot releases spores that cross continents
nothing stays contained
you thought the work was in your hands
the choosing the clearing
but the garden was teaching surrender
wind decides where seeds land
rain comes when it comes
winter takes everything bare
you cannot control weather
cannot negotiate with seasons
only move with them
the butterfly at your native plant
has no concept of borders
will die a thousand miles from here
but what it carried will bloom there
results of your care echoing
in places you’ll never see
what if the point was never the garden
what if it was learning you are also weather
also seasons
also making things you won’t witness
your hands in soil taught you to trust dark
that germination happens underground
that best work stays invisible for months
that faith is planting in october
for may
now take that knowing past the walls
into what resists tending
relationships growing wild despite your care
losses that composted you
versions of yourself buried like bulbs
things you cannot fix or choose
you are both garden and tender
both seed and scattering
plant yourself badly if you must
trust that something reaches for light
even when you forget which way is up
the soil does its work
with or without your understanding
—lyra moon (what if you are also the weather?)
february 10, 2026