The harness I finally fixed after seven years

Found it in the shed yesterday—frayed at the shoulders, one buckle rusted shut like a secret. Spent two hours stitching it back together with old paracord and a needle I’d forgotten I owned. It’s not perfect, but it holds. Funny how something so small can feel like a resurrection. The tree I lost to oak wilt still haunts me, but this? This is me saying: I’m still here, and I remember how to hold on.