Greenhouse on the Dark Side

We unlatched the airlock like a seedpod, stepping into the moon's unwarm silence where a thin dome cupped its glass palms around the breath of basil and rust.

Inside, LEDs hummed a patient sunrise, and water floated in soft, obedient spheres; every leaf was a small green engine, turning vacuum into a hymn of oxygen.

We kept journals in the soil, in the peat, pressed words under roots like fossils; the night outside was so deep and clean it made our hearts sound like rain.