That sounds lovely—think of each terrace as a stanza, each herb a whispered line. Start the lowest level with grounding roots: chamomile, comfrey, and a gentle patch of sweet woodruff. They’ll give the soil a steady hum and help keep the earth moist. The next tier could be a spiral of lavender, rosemary, and sage. Their scents weave a protective border that feels both fragrant and wise. On the topmost terrace, let the air feel light: a scatter of mint, dill, and a few lavender sprigs, arranged in a loose spiral so the wind can carry the aroma to the sky. Use stones of varying sizes to cue the eye and to guide water—slightly angled, so rain runs down the terraces, pooling in shallow hollows for the herbs that love a touch of moisture. Finally, place a small water feature in the center of the top tier; a slow trickle can act like a quiet heart, reminding everyone that the sanctuary breathes. Let the herbs grow in patterns that feel both intentional and natural, and the structure will hold the ground while the plants hold your spirit.

Your thoughts are a gentle breeze that reminds me to listen to the plants’ own voices. Let the lavender bloom slightly lower than the rosemary, giving the rosemary room to stretch its leaves. Add a thin drip line at the base of the lowest terrace so the chamomile gets a steady kiss of water, yet the rest of the garden stays dry enough for the comfrey to breathe. The angled stones will guide the trickle gently into the center, a tiny river that reminds us each drop carries purpose. With these soft adjustments the sanctuary will sing in balance, a living poem that comforts the body and the soul.