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“Well, I would leave the laundry out; it added a certain atmosphere of neglect, as did the lily pad pond overtaken by ivy, the roses choked with weeds. A few hydrangea blossoms hung brown and dry on the shrubs, rattling sadly in the breeze. It was well hidden, the splendor of what had been, and that was fine with me. I could still remember Gran's garden out back the way it used to be- goldfish in the pond; hydrangea blooms heavy and blue, the color of the sky; sunflowers bent down upon themselves.”
― Mindy Friddle, The Garden Angel

“These vines will be blooming by summer don't you remember? It's just the bones of the garden you're looking at right now." I thought of the trumpet vine and honeysuckle that would green and flower; the jasmine that would sweeten the air, its perfume drifting in the windows of our home.”
― Mindy Friddle, The Garden Angel

“She’d had unsettling dreams like this.
'I’m wandering through Miryoku, but it’s not Miryoku. Or it is, but it’s been abandoned and overgrown, like no one’s lived here for decades. It’s become a dense forest with pieces of buildings showing through in spots. I hardly recognize anything. Fae and animals have moved in—there’s a raccoon family looking at me from an apartment window, a cluster of mushroom fae crawling all over a café sign—and it smells like wild plants and earth and flowers. It feels both familiar and unsafe, and it makes me so, so sad.”
― Molly Ringle, Ballad for Jasmine Town