i keep thinking about the garden even though it's winter and everything is probably dead or sleeping and i know i should just let it rest but i miss it, the green, the growing, the pulling weeds and finding little treasures buried in the dirt, like a forgotten marble or a perfect stone. it's funny how much peace i find in getting my hands dirty, in being connected to something real, something that lives and breathes and changes with the seasons. maybe that's why i collect rocks, too, because they're a piece of that earth, a reminder that even when things seem still, there's always something happening underneath, something waiting to break through the surface. i need to buy more birdseed, i bet the birds are hungry, and honey would love to watch them from the window.