I was in the garden picking Guindo Santo for the cook, again. Why he insists on stealing into my garden to procure herbs, the effects of which he hasn’t the faintest clue, for his experiments in the kitchen is beyond me. I will make him this tea once more to calm his stomach and after that I believe I will ask the Hawthorns to act as a hedgerow for the herbs. 

But, this is where I was when I noticed the plants perk up and a sweet breeze rustle my leaves; I turned toward the direction he always…