The afternoon heat settled over the valley like a heavy, golden cloak, drawing out the resinous scent of wild cedar and drying grass. Down along the riverbed, dragonflies hovered over the clear, shallow pools that pooled around the granite boulders, their iridescent wings flashing in the glaring sunlight.
I knelt near the edge of the stone embankment, holding a small brass trowel in one hand and a bundle of young lavender cuttings in the other. We were planting along the western foundation line—a practical measure to anchor the topsoil while keeping insects away from the timber siding. The soil here was warm to the touch, dark and rich, enriched by years of decaying forest leaves and swept clean of weeds by our morning labor.
Beside me, Damon was working with a heavy iron spade, turning
