Entry One: The Land Remembers Me

I arrived with nothing but the wind at my back and a half-burned journal in my bag. The map I followed? Scribbled in the margins of dreams I barely remember. This land… it hums. The trees lean a little closer when I speak. The air tastes like memory.

I slept beneath the stars last night—no roof, no walls, just sky. Grace (the stray cat who’s decided I belong to her now) curled up at my feet, and Monet the little white dog made a nest in a patch of moss. The world was silent, except for the soft chorus of crickets and the crackle of my small fire.

This morning I pulled three carrots from the wild soil and traded them in town for seeds and a used easel. My fingers are stained green. It feels like beginning again.

The Dreamspace isn’t built yet, but I can feel it waiting, like a story half-told.