The year
One heartbeat, twelve months.
The community breathes on a schedule, and the schedule is a circle. Every final Friday, the fire jam. Every week, the potluck table. In the deepest winter, the coals; in the height of summer, the water. Tap anything on the ring to go there.
fire jam — every final Friday
the garden's seasons
The ring turns; the fire stays lit. The firewalk waits in December, the retreat in June, and the next jam is never more than a month away.