title: The Sanctuary Garden: Creating a Place of Refuge in Your Yard or Garden
author: Christopher For Mcdowell
description: For many gardeners, gardening is a moving meditation that brings peace and deep relaxation. At times, however, repetitive chores can feel more stressful than soothing. The authors of <i>The Sanctuary Garden</i> remind us that being in the garden (as opposed to active gardening) is a way to honor the intrinsic relatedness of people and plants. To help us get beyond our busyness, they identify seven key design elements that can turn a garden into a living retreat or sanctuary. A special entrance marks our departure from the mundane world. Water, the symbol of life, brings flow and reflection to the garden. The thoughtful use of color and the play of light can be contrived to deliberately evoke emotions--peace, comfort, awe, and respect. Natural features like sculptural rocks, wind song, and fragrance can become focal points for our attention. Artwork that supports the desired feelings can be integrated into our plantings. Finally, we can create attractive habitat for birds, pollinators, and animals. Sharing the garden with nature--not just plants--broadens our sense of connectedness to the natural world in a wholesome, healing way. The book creates a challenge: where is your sanctuary? Answering that may expand both your garden and your spirit. <i>--Ann Lovejoy</i>
zlib_text: FINDING REFUGE
  HOMETOWN HEROES: BOOK 1
  
  J.P. OLIVER
  
  CONTENTS
  1. Zach
  2. Curtis
  3. Zach
  4. Curtis
  5. Zach
  6. Curtis
  7. Zach
  8. Curtis
  9. Zach
  10. Curtis
  11. Zach
  12. Curtis
  13. Zach
  14. Curtis
  15. Zach
  16. Curtis
  17. Zach
  18. Curtis
  19. Zach
  20. Curtis
  21. Zach
  22. Curtis
  23. Zach
  24. Zach
  Seeking Sanctuary
  Free Bonus Chapters!
  Finding Refuge
  
  W
  1
  ZACH
  hen I stepped out of the cab, everything in the world felt familiar.
  “This is the place,” the cabbie said, grunting as he unbuckled and heaved himself out
  of the front seat. Dutifully, he went to the back, flipped open the trunk and passed me my
  duffel bag.
  “Thanks.” I slung it over my shoulder.
  I didn’t need to be told twice—or even once, for that matter—that this was the place; I’d know it
  was the place by the smell of the air around it—cool and light and smelling of foamflower, cut grass,
  and old rain—and by the bumps in the road—there weren’t a lot, but they were scattered up the
  weaving roads as we climbed in elevation, and I’d been