“Because the truth was, I had never been sure if he was ever mine to long for. Only that I had once stood close enough to the fire to feel its heat.”

I’ve always lived under a metal roof. Rainy days don’t rush me anymore. They bring me home to myself.

Bartholomew Badger likes knowing where things are, and how to get back to them. But one spring morning, the path doesn’t lead home, and he begins to learn the quiet joy of not knowing. A Widdershins Wood tale about direction, discovery, and adaptability.

I ran miles to make the team. Played through injury after injury. Barely came off the court. And I loved it — every serve, every win, every ache. Volleyball was mine.

Late July, 1912. In the tranquil solitude of the conservatory, Lady Bergamot and Yates Everett find themselves on the precipice of something unspoken. Yates admits a longing neither of them can act on, forcing Lady Bergamot to confront emotions she’s tried to suppress. The weight of his confession hangs in the air, leaving her with an ache that refuses to be ignored. Will they be able to keep their desires at bay, or is everything about to change?

I have learned not to measure my words by how many read them. Still, I write. Still, I remain.

Horace Groundhog has never been known for asking—or thanking. But when a young hare named Tansy brings him soup and never asks why, he begins to grow something he didn’t expect: the urge to give something back.

I was born on a market day. Grew up napping under the tables and counting back change before I lost my baby teeth. And now, some Saturdays, I return — to the same booth, the same rhythm, the same quiet pride that raised me.

At a summer gathering, Lady Bergamot hears a widow’s confession—and wonders how long a quiet affection can hide before someone sees its glow.

We do not speak in sentences. But oh, how we understand each other. This is the joy of raising my son, where words are not needed.

Thistle Hedgehog reminds the bees when it’s time to pollinate. She always has. But when she forgets, and nothing falls apart, she begins to learn that trust might be as important as planning. A soft Widdershins Wood tale about letting go—just enough.

Not every childhood starts before sunrise, behind a big tractor, or ends with watermelon cracked open in the field. But mine did. This is the beginning of The Rows Behind the House — a subseries of The Apricot Years, rooted in sweat, trust, and sweetness.

At a society wedding, Lady Bergamot is quietly unraveled by a question she wasn’t expecting. Yates Everett risks just enough to make it unforgettable.

Some days, a new leaf feels like a miracle. My plants don’t rush me. And they don’t mind if I am quiet.

Suzette Duck had a plan. Or she might’ve. In this meandering, heart-soft Widdershins tale, she forgets what she was doing, makes a few lovely detours, and discovers that some days are meant not to be finished—but found.

We didn’t need a neighborhood. We had Jake — a red and white border collie who let us turn his doghouse into a fortress, who answered when called, and who stayed beside us in the quiet hours when childhood was taking shape.

Lady Bergamot pulls away from Yates Everett, trying to forget the violet, the book, and how it felt to be truly seen. But ache has its own memory.

I don’t need my home to always feel sunny. I just need it to be a place where weather is allowed.

Oswald Heron’s life is quiet, tidy, and just so—until a duck moves into his pond, scattering lily pads and rearranging everything, including his heart. A gentle Widdershins Wood story of change, laughter, and unexpected friendship.

There was a cheese hat on the top shelf of the classroom closet, and if you spelled your way to the end, it was yours — if only for a photo. I won once, maybe twice. I don’t remember the word. But I remember the feeling. And I remember the cheese.