" When I’m stymied, troubled, or sad, I go to that sun-warmed stone bench where my soul—subdued by deadlines, to-do lists, by my incessant inner chatter—unfurls and stretches like a cat. Should I never enter the sanctuary again, I’d always find succor in our leaf-littered paths and courtyards. The old deodars and oaks are like calm, noble parents. I always leave feeling new. Just driving by the property, my soul stirs. "
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