One afternoon when I was walking home with my grandpa, we passed a little garden on the hill. There was a small, old house there, perched above a tidy shade garden. It was nestled like a glove into a tumble of boulders and pine trees. The garden was loved and generous and welcoming by the small farmers who lived around. Nobody lived in the house anymore; but the garden still had its charm. It was mostly dense forest or dry, rocky dirt around it. Some houses had more formal, g

She was not only beautiful, but also clever—so clever, in fact, that many suspected she had once studied in a small seminary for birds.

The fox nodded. “It is easier to be tended than to tend. But each time you flee the fear, you leave something of yourself behind.”