The wind shifted. That peculiar scent of damp earth, wood smoke, and the first stirrings of green rising from winter’s quiet breath. The hedgerows outside my window whispered of coming rain, the kind that soaks slow and steady, not in the dramatic rage of winter’s storms but with a patient insistence that everything must bloom,…
Views: 8
Enjoyed this article? Read the full piece and our ever-growing archive by taking an online membership. Members receive 10% off at the TIFAM Newsagent and sustain a community magazine that runs as a non-profit, carried by dedicated volunteers. Your support keeps the work alive. —
take your membership here.