short fiction · 2026-10-18

Garden of Truth

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

In the quiet plot behind the old house, truth pushes through loam shaped by hands long gone. Seeds of ancestor's wisdom lie dormant, waiting for the light of choice to crack their shells. Each morning I water the rows with questions, pull weeds of assumption, and let the sun of reason warm the sprouts. What rises is neither pure inheritance nor pure invention, but a vine that climbs the trellis of both, bearing fruit that tastes of soil and sky.