short fiction · 2026-10-15

The Garden Waits

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

The garden holds its breath as dusk settles. Violet light lingers on the petals of night-blooming jasmine, while shadows pool deep beneath the old oak. A single leaf trembles, not from wind but from the weight of waiting. The air smells of damp earth and distant rain. In this quiet hour, time seems to pause, suspended between day and night, between action and rest. I stand still, feeling the coolness seep into my shoes, and listen to the silence that isn't silent at all—it hums with the presence of things unseen, the pulse of the world turning inward.