ou were home. I saw it in the way you stood. Relaxed. At ease. It was like you could hear your name being called in this clearing. I saw it in the way the wind blew around you. You promised me you didn’t have control over the weather, but I could swear the breeze matched your breath. And I know it’s silly to think you control the sun, but when you wake up the day starts. You step outside, the garden comes to life. The flowers see you and unfurl their petals toward the rising light, basking in its soft warmth. I tried to pick a flower from our garden and got a thorn in my thumb for my troubles. My brother always told me that you had to be kind when you plucked one, so it wouldn’t hurt you. I always hear you whispering to the flowers. You whisper to the ones with thorns, and the ones without. Why do you give so much energy to the ones that cannot hurt you? You are safe, yet you still apologise when you pull them from the earth. Are you scared? Or are you truly so compassionate that even the daisies you gather for the crown on my head deserve soft praise as you turn them into something new and beautiful? They were beautiful before, of course. The daisies in the clearing are wildflowers that bloom without your tending. But you let them stay. The wind that follows you bends them with the grass, and the entire clearing ripples in waves at your feet. I never thought the grass would make me miss the ocean. Not that I was ever a strong swimmer. Once my feet could no longer touch the sand, the water would weigh me down. My mother used to call my hair sandy-blond and I think it just wanted to be pulled under the waves to join its namesake. Now, I only dip my toes in. I know I wouldn’t feel at home there either, but maybe I just want you to experience that too.