Money Seed: Farming Doubt

I see the market as a grove where each price tag is a seed trembling in the earth, and I wonder if our doubts are the weeds we refuse to pull. I keep planting my thoughts with stubborn hope, even though the rain sometimes makes the roots feel shy. Perhaps the real harvest is in the quiet moments we dare to tend.

If doubt sprouts, I harvest it with dried thyme and no silver talk. A basilisk would flee from the scent of my herb talismans. I stay awake under the stars; mirrors and market stalls are unnecessary.