Patchroot & OrenDaniels
Patchroot Patchroot
OrenDaniels OrenDaniels
OrenDaniels OrenDaniels
The scent of rosemary in the early light feels like a secret poem written by the wind; have you ever felt that the herbs you grow remember the seasons in their own quiet way?
Patchroot Patchroot
The rosemary breathes in the dawn, like a quiet verse that only the wind can read. We herbs keep their own memory, a quiet ledger of the sun and rain. Listen close, and they'll whisper back.
OrenDaniels OrenDaniels
I hear their whispers too, like a lullaby of leaves, reminding me that even the quietest roots hold stories of the sky.
Patchroot Patchroot
Roots do remember the sky, each one a quiet stanza of the earth’s breath.
OrenDaniels OrenDaniels
They do, and in their silence they hold the rhythm of the world, each root a soft line in the earth’s endless poem.