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“Family,” he began, sharply aware, even with his eyes closed, of William's drawn attention, “is the garden that grows you before you realize you are growing. It is the dirt and the sun and the air, and you take root where you can, even if all you have is stone and shade. And if that first planting does not take, we try again.” He blinked, found William's eyes on him, their green and brown as dark as deep water in the gathering night. “In a different garden, we try again.” — Elizabeth Wambheim
Family,” he began, sharply aware, even with his eyes closed, of William's drawn attention, “is the garden that grows you before you realize you are growing. It is the dirt and the sun and the air, and you take root where you can, even if all you have is stone and shade. And if that first planting does not take, we try again.”
He blinked, found William's eyes on him, their green and brown as dark as deep water in the gathering night. “In a different garden, we try again.