The morning sun filtered through the weeping willow, casting dancing shadows over Elara as she knelt in the damp soil. In her garden, the world felt simple—just the scent of crushed mint and the rhythmic snip of her shears.
She felt most at home here, where nature didn't demand explanations. The bees didn't care about the depth of her voice, and the roses didn't flinch at the strength in her hands. They only cared that she brought the water and understood the rhythm of the seasons. shemale in garden
Elara wiped a smudge of dirt from her forehead and smiled, a genuine, easy expression. "Just giving them what they need to grow, Mrs. Gable. A little sun, a little space." The morning sun filtered through the weeping willow,