Landscape Architecture
Do you shape it, or let it grow?
Do you guide the stream, or let it flow?
A place can be built, or simply found,
Held in the soil, in the paths on the ground.
A hand may design, but the land will reply,
Through roots that wander and birds that fly.
Meaning is shared where footsteps meet,
Where memory gathers in the folds of the street.
Good design lives where edges blur—
Between what is made, and what may occur.
So do you hold it? Or let it decide?
The answer waits where people and place collide.
Once, this land was forest.
Now it is fields, houses, roads.
A few trees left here and there.
People ask, should we bring it back?
But time does not go backwards.
Landscape keeps moving, with us, without us.
We say good, we say bad.
But who is the designer?
Maybe the task is not to restore or to regenerate.
But to listen.
To see what is here now.
To allow it to grow.
To ask what we want to grow from this place.
I build houses without walls
No doors to close, no corners to claim
The house I design is the air between things
The garden, the path, the quiet rain
I have built in quiet fields
where the land already speaks.
I listened to walls made of earth and time,
to paths worn soft by footsteps
long before mine.