Wally’s Garden I remember my Grandaddy walking the halls of our church. He walked beside my Grandma, every few steps interrupted by someone stopping to chat. His suit was brown linen, with pleated slacks to match, and the sleeves fell slightly over the hand that gripped a beige plastic
On mirrors, bluebirds, and the exhaustion of self-judgment
On impatience, beauty, and learning to love what is
On memory, renovation, and the passing of generations.
On belonging without disappearing
On trust, systems, and the courage to face truth
Moving forward without returning
On attention, family dinner, and learning presence