image::calber - Peace Agreement and Garden Preparation Agreement Day
::I write from a season of sowing and plants of the future. My hands sink into the damp earth, hoping that one day firm roots and upright stems will sprout from it. The work is arduous: the sun beats down, the earth sometimes resists, and the rain doesn't always arrive on time. But no fruit is born without first facing the patience of waiting. I don't want these seeds to wither under the pressure of my own demands, as happened in a previous cycle, when insecurity ended the greenery. I don't want to repeat that experience. Today, however, I walk with different feet through this garden. A wise gardener accompanies me: he reminds me that for life to sprout, we must give it our all, that each seed feels the pulse of its caretaker. He is there, steadfast, encouraging me to trust the process. Other gardeners, watching from a distance, celebrate my finding him; they send me messages of encouragement like rays of sunshine caressing my most fragile shoots. Sometimes it's hard not to feel like you're in your most fertile moment, as if the season has already passed. But I know that a true garden isn't measured by the speed of its blossoming, but by the consistency with which it's watered. Perhaps I won't yet achieve everlasting plants, but what I seek is more humble and true: to see the first ones germinate, the ones that will pave the way for the entire garden to one day make me a gardener. Remember that the seeds you now bury in the dark soil aren't dead, they're dreaming. Give them time, nurture them without haste, and they will show you the strength you fear you won't achieve today. With strength, with hope, and with hands full of present earth. Arthur Inclán
