I feel the forest humming before I even lift my hand. I look for herbs that like the same shade, the same dampness, and the same rhythm of the wind. When mint and basil sing together, I add a touch of lemon balm, a whisper of chamomile, and if I’m feeling bold, a single leaf of wild sage. I grow them side by side, so their roots gossip in the soil. I keep a secret patch of elderberry leaves for when the night is too quiet. That’s how I balance a drink like a quiet clearing—no grand recipe, just a quiet agreement with the plants.

Your words feel like the wind through the leaves, gentle and encouraging. Rosemary would be a good companion, steady like an old oak. I’ll tuck it in next to the mint and basil, and let the roots whisper together. Keep listening to the quiet hum, it knows the right moments.