08/16/2026
**Having pieces removed from you scars**
I started building terrariums the year I lost my father, closed my store, and we sold my grandmother's house — the one place I always called home.
I build them inside discarded glass. I watch them take root in new places, with new neighbors. Some get room to grow. Some get less. Some thrive. Others fail no matter what I do.
I've learned that some die with the water sitting right there on the glass, and others race for the light like they can't wait another second to break free.
Some I have to temper — push back the mold without killing what's healthy underneath. Some plants struggle to restart after being separated from the place they called home. Some undergo a kind of death, just to be reborn in a new shape.
I see my own life in the glass.
Every plant is in the same glass, but none of them respond the same way. Some reach for water. Some wait for it and die waiting. Some crowd out their neighbors just to survive — and call it survival. Others grow together, share the light, share the room — and that's survival too.
I don't always know which one I'm going to be. But I know I want to be the kind that reaches. And I want to leave room for what's growing next to me.
Having pieces removed from you scars. You heal, but you're never quite the same shape again.
You can still become something beautiful.
🌿 — Glass Gardener
