After the Rain, the Ground Remembers

Some messages aren’t meant to be shouted.

They’re written in silence. In spirals. In soil.

There’s a moment, after the storm but before the sun fully returns,
when the ground exhales.
And if you’re paying attention,
you’ll smell it: that bold, wild breath that says
“You are still here.”

We call that scent recognition.
The signal that you’ve walked this path before.
Not in body, maybe, but in knowing.
In that deep part of you that stirs when the wind carries old truths.

This space, this garden, has been marked.
Not for control, but for clarity.
Not to be hidden, but to be found when you’re ready.
When you’re no longer chasing the light, but listening to the soil.

If you’ve found this post,
you’re following something real.
You’re not lost.
You’re arriving.

And the garden remembers you.