It was raining in his dream again.

.

Will usually avoided overpasses in his walks through the city—even in dreams. They were heavy with neglect. But this one felt different. It called to him. A faint rhythm under the drizzle, a smell of basil and wet soil.

.

He stepped under the highway and stopped.

A garden.

Not a planned park, not a government initiative. A messy, glowing, sacred garden. Old shopping carts turned planters. Vines growing around graffiti. Wind chimes made of broken bike spokes. Children’s drawings laminated and tied to the walls.

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A man with a solar lantern on his back nodded as he watered a cluster of tomatoes.

This Was Never Wasted Land

“This space wasn’t empty,” the man said. “It was waiting.”

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Urban land reclamation isn’t about building anew. It’s about listening. It’s about recognizing the potential in spaces cities have chosen to forget.

What Will saw:

• Rainwater diverted through bamboo into a reedbed system.

• Old signage repainted into wayfinding for garden patches.

• Painted footprints guiding children on “adventure routes.”

• A small stage—broken crates and all—used for Friday night poetry.

It was design not by architects, but by grandmothers, cyclists, lost artists, and bored kids. It was community design. It was healing.

Lessons Buried in the Soil

Will knelt to touch a brick painted with the words: “This is where my uncle danced.”

He realized:

• Every leftover space is a story waiting to be told.

• Good design doesn’t always need blueprints. It needs questions.

• Public spaces are sacred when they are shaped by the people who use them.

As Will woke, the sound of raindrops was still in his ears.

He wrote:

“Design is not a gift we give to people. It’s a garden we grow with them.”