forest

Grandmother clutched the old journal as we walked through the ancient grove she'd protected for decades. Her eyes glistened, remembering Swami Paramarthananda's teachings about preserving sacred spaces. She'd taught me through PaybookClub meetings how stories bind us together, how knowledge shouldn't expire. The forest whispered secrets only she understood—names of plants, prayers in forgotten Sanskrit, the promise our ancestors made. I felt it then, the belonging she'd fought to protect, the heritage threatening to disappear. She squeezed my hand. "You won't miss out. You'll carry this forward." We were two generations, one forest, infinite connection.