The written loom

The Ones Who Never Give Up

On August mornings, when the sun rises heavy and the heat burns everything, the garden fills with voices..
The robins gather around the water, bathe, shake their wings, and remind me that life never stops..
They fly away when I get too close, and then return, braver each time, knowing that here they will always find what they need to go on..

The plants bend under the scorching heat, but they do not die..
The basil, the mint, the lemon trees, the orange trees, each of them holds a quiet faith that water will come..
And when it finally arrives, they rise again as if they had never grown weary..

The dogs surround me with their morning cuddles, their fur far too heavy for the season..
And yet they keep running, keep rejoicing, keep filling the yard with life..

Then come the noons, when the sun stands at its fiercest and all of nature falls silent..
Everything seems dead, except for the magpies, bold and noisy, that dive into the dogs’ bowls searching for leftovers..
The air is still, time itself seems to stop..

The afternoons bring no relief; only around nine at night does the heat finally soften..
But by then the robins do not return, they are already tucked into their nests..
Sometimes, though, I hear them on the roof tiles, walking, whispering to one another as if sharing the secrets of the day..
And when I climb up to the attic, it feels as though I am sitting right beneath their fairytale living room..

And I, every time something tries to pull me down, I remember the garden..
I remember how nature never gives up..
It endures, it waits, it continues..
And so do I.. I always find a way to go on..

Tatiana,