WHYGARDEN fifty-six
Writers leave their brokenness in words; I leave warmth in this space.
Soft, embracing sofas
hold the quiet affection glimmering in one's gaze.
Even the cold wind
slipping through the window frame
begins to sway more gently here,
as if winter itself
had learned some mercy.
Kawabata wrote in Snow Country
that beyond the long tunnel at the county border
lies the land of snow.
The mountains are vast,
the cold is real,
and fracture is part of the scene.
Yet there is always one steady warmth
waiting inside the room:
a lamp, a chair, a corner of conversation.
That is enough to keep the season human.
RECOMMEND · SPACES
WHYGARDEN
Time Well Wasted in Spring Light
If we never make time for the seemingly useless, how are we to spend our finite lives?
WHYGARDEN
Spring Stirs Above the Clouds
If noise is not your way of life, enjoy the quiet of answering only to yourself.










