I dreamt of a high-walled garden where love ripened like figs. I woke with the taste of sweetness and no tree in sight. I searched my sleeves, my steps, my days, until a child tugged my sleeve: “Why do you look outside the basket you are already carrying?” I looked down and saw a simple weave of breaths, moments, and kindness. In the hollow center of this basket the whole orchard rested, smiling.