{June} Where Joy Runs Wild | 12x9in to 60x45in

Here, the Garden reaches beyond a place — it is a calling; a rhythm; an invitation into a life of nurturing. Tending the soil is an act of self-giving, again and again: to wake early, to kneel low, and to stretch one’s hands toward all that is precious and new. The work here is too sacred to be rushed. It is full of mystery, yet saturated in meaning. It is marked by a growing beauty shaped through grief-worn weathering. Some blooms arrive effortlessly, springing up in joy without bounds. Others take longer, or never arrive at all. Still, the gardener keeps watch — mourning what was lost, what has yet to grow, and what may never rise from the soil. She waters and waits with a love and hope that endure even the harshest springtime storms. The cool of the morning air brushes softly against the gardener’s skin, lifting the night’s heavy dew as the sun slowly rises above. Every moment of blooming becomes a quiet prayer, reaching tangibly toward the heavens. Some are clearly answered as worthy celebration awakens the sun-kissed petals, while some still whisper through wind-bent stems — but all are cradled together in the same soil that embraces every new gift and lingering desire. Here, the gardener remembers that she is not made only to nurture, but to be nurtured, too — like a garden in need of the truest Gardener, whose love runs higher and deeper than any earthly root or petal can reach. Here, new life and longing are nurtured — by the gardener, and for the gardener.