The garden is not gone… It whispers in soil dark syllables — Faith is the dark soil reach, into what is not yet known. Hope is that waiting hush, the breath between winter & bloom. Love is the tree rising steady, wholeness spilling over. Eden still grows — in the hands that tend what fades, in the quiet vow, that nothing sacred is ever lost. Reproduced from the artist''s original artwork of Oil on Panel 16 x 12. Painted 2025.