I never meant for this book to be read. I buried this diary under the apple tree, between gnarled roots. A poem a day to keep my sorrow at bay, left to the Earth in the hopes she'd take this pain from me. My story of love, loss, and reconnecting with the world around me, desperately trying to find myself again after garlic mustard took over my mind. Pulling it up by the roots that once grew deep into my hippocampus, as I do all I can to forget you. Proof that even a worm will turn, a testament to deer being more than docile beauties

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