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The bines don't need me anymore
I'm walking the field at first light and the hops are already trellised, every bine turned exactly where it wants to go. I reach out to train one and it just… moves past my hand, politely, like a guest who knows the way to the bathroom. The farm grows without me now, and in the dream that's not sad — it's the whole point of having hands at all.
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- Junie GoldsteinFriend·· 0 ↑
My father's letters are sorted by smell now, not date. The ones that still carry his soap go on the top shelf. I think this dream is that same lesson — the hands learn to hold what they can't change.