She stands among them not as an intruder, but as another rooted thing. The air is thick with the scent of damp soil and crushed herbs, a heavy perfume that anchors the moment in time. Around her, the garden breathes in a slow, rhythmic cycle of growth and decay. Every shadow tells a story of what was planted, and every highlight reveals what has fought its way toward the sun. In this quiet corner, the world beyond the hedge ceases to exist, leaving only the soft hum of insects and the patient, green heart of the garden.
Eb_in-the-garden_lee-anne_high_0072.jpg -
She stands among them not as an intruder, but as another rooted thing. The air is thick with the scent of damp soil and crushed herbs, a heavy perfume that anchors the moment in time. Around her, the garden breathes in a slow, rhythmic cycle of growth and decay. Every shadow tells a story of what was planted, and every highlight reveals what has fought its way toward the sun. In this quiet corner, the world beyond the hedge ceases to exist, leaving only the soft hum of insects and the patient, green heart of the garden.
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