Every morning, Lila would serve tea in her small garden—a place where the air itself seemed medicinal. The scent of mint and chamomile drifted through the leaves, soothing her restless mind.
She tended to her plants with quiet gratitude, knowing that each sprout was both a practice in patience and a promise of healing. Sometimes, old memories would creep in—little triggers that tried to blow holes in her calm. But she had learned control, one breath at a time.
Her favorite plant was a wild sunflower that grew taller than her. “You shoot for the sun,” she’d whisper to it, smiling. “And you never miss.”
The neighbors often came to visit, asking for tea or a story. And Lila would tell them how every leaf, every bloom, was a living treasure—each carrying the stories of rain, wind, and care.
When the day ended, she sat among her plants, the setting sun painting gold across her hands. She didn’t just grow herbs. She grew peace.
Written for the Sunday whirl wordle hosted by Brenda!
Therapy Bits 
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