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Chapter 2: Rituals of Summer
The rhythm here is slower, softer: life unfolding not in hurried hours but in gentle waves. Time isn’t tracked by minutes or alarms, but by the quiet cadence of simple, grounding rituals. She waters and feeds her plants as the kettle hums to life, the warm scent of earth mingling with the promise of freshly brewed coffee. Later, she scribbles a few thoughts and lists into a sun-dappled journal, the pages curling slightly in the light. The day stretches open like linen on a line, soft and loose.
In the afternoon, she wanders barefoot to the garden, brushing past lavender and lemon balm to pick a handful of basil. Lunch begins not with urgency, but with intention…sopping slowly, letting music drift through the room like a companion. The windows remain open. The breeze moves through like a silent guest, rearranging the air and carrying with it the scent of the sea, or maybe something blooming nearby.
This is how she marks time now. Not by deadlines or demands, but by quiet, deliberate acts of care. Care for her home, her rituals. Care for herself. Each gesture is a soft anchor, keeping her grounded in the present, tethered to something gentle and real.