There was a sundial.
But no one looked at it.
The shadows moved — but not because anyone was watching. Just because that’s what shadows do.
The garden sat behind an old monastery.
Not famous. Not hidden. Just… still.
It had moss on the benches.
Broken pots filled with thriving mint.
A cat that seemed too old to chase anything, yet too peaceful to stop moving.
People wandered in and out.
But mostly out.
It wasn’t a place that asked you to stay. It just let you, if you needed it.
I didn’t read.
Didn’t write. Didn’t even check the time.
Because this place — it didn’t need you to be anywhere.
It just let you return to the part of yourself that wasn’t trying so hard to move forward.