The Garden Exhales…

There are months that arrive with a thunderclap. And there are others that slip in through the screen door at dawn, barefoot and knowing. So far, July has been the latter.

I didn’t plan to shed anything. I didn’t set an intention to change. But slowly—almost imperceptibly—the clutter began to clear.

First in the rooms. Then in the rituals. Then in the conversations I was no longer willing to cushion.

It wasn’t rebellion.

It was exhalation.

I stopped over-explaining.

I started choosing quiet over performance.

I rearranged a few things.

In place of noise, there came rhythm:

• Morning stretches with the light just beginning to stretch too.

• Breath meeting body.

• Truth meeting tone.

I looked around one morning and realized: This is mine now. The shape of my life.

There have been lessons of kindness without appeasement and of space without absence, but I’ve learned them gently. Not with a shout, but with a nod.

This month has not been loud. But it has been deep.

And if I could leave you with one thing, it’s this: When the garden exhales, exhale with it.

Let July teach you how to breathe again.