Bequia Threadworks

The garden remembers.

Rain caught in orchid petals.
Vanilla carried on the trade winds.
A bench beneath an old tree,
holding stories the earth has not forgotten.

Linen stirs.
Heliconias lean toward the light.
The house breathes through open curtains.

Some places are not seen.
They are felt.

In the hush between blossom and breeze.
In the warmth of sun-worn wood.
In the scent of an island
slowly unfolding.