There’s a dragon in my backyard.
He guards the oasis I’ve been slowly rebuilding — not from intruders, but from forgetting.
He lost his ear in a storm.
It broke my heart a little to see him wounded. Not because of the ear itself, but because he’s part of something sacred. That dragon, those fairies, the old metal bed I turned into a flower bed — they’re all pieces of a story I’ve been quietly rewriting. One of survival, softness, magic, and taking up space on my own terms.
Today, I found the dragon’s ear.
And I fixed it.
Not because I had to. But because I wanted to. Because repairing that ear felt like repairing something in me — some thread of joy or hope that had been loosened by storms I didn’t cause but had to live through anyway.
It’s strange, how much meaning can live in a backyard.
I used to call it “my oasis,” even when it was overgrown, forgotten, or buried under freeze-damaged plants and chaotic corners. But now? I’m actually tending to it. Replanting. Repainting. Gluing fairies back into their stands. Giving myself permission to care about beauty again.
Each small repair feels like a declaration:
🛠️ I’m still here.
🌱 I still want things.
✨ I still believe in magic, even when I have to hot glue it back together.
This space isn’t for perfection. It’s for presence. For joy. For dragon-guarded moments of rest.
Sometimes healing doesn’t look like journaling or therapy. Sometimes it looks like gluing a fairy’s feet down or sweeping leaves off a mossy path. Sometimes it looks like repotting something with shaky hands and hoping it lives.
And sometimes it looks like a dragon with a mended ear, watching over everything I’m still learning to love again — especially myself.
Music Vibe Today The House Of Momma Dragon by S.J. Tucker