The Quiet Garden Before Dusk

At the edge of a monastery was a small walled garden. I entered just before dusk, when the shadows grew long and bees made their final rounds. Peonies bloomed in one corner, heavy and still, while a frog croaked once at the edge of the pond.

A monk sweeping the stone path paused to greet me. “This is a good time to sit,” he said. “Not much to do, and nothing left to want.”

So I stayed. I watched the golden light fall over every leaf and stone, softening the edges of everything.

“May is when the world opens,” the monk said quietly. “But it opens in silence.”

As the light faded, the stillness deepened. Not empty of life – but full of it, in a quiet way.