The Garden of Wonders

Dear Open Heart,

I have always loved rain.

Rain arrives without apology. It softens the soil, wakes the roots, and teaches the garden that interruption can still become nourishment. Every leaf lifts its face. Every flower remembers she was never meant to beg for light.

Then comes the sun, golden and sure of itself. It does not explain its brilliance. It simply enters and calls everything upward.

This is how possibility works.

First, the storm.
Then, the clearing.
Then, the quiet nerve to bloom again.

Somewhere between rain and radiance, I remember myself. I am not ruined. I am not waiting. I am not asking the season to name me worthy.

I am the season.

And here comes my becoming:

Resilience.
Discernment.
Abundance.
Sovereignty.
Photosynthesis.

Yes, photosynthesis. Because even healing must learn how to turn light into food.

Let the record show: I have been weathered, but not wasted. Drenched, but not drowned.

The garden knows. The rain knows. The sun knows.

Some women are not defined.

They are entire languages returning to themselves.

Poetically Vibrant,

Sherley Delia