poetry, prose, short story

Life of A Gardener

I am a gardener. But I have only got one flower to take care of.

Nevertheless, I consider myself a gardener.

This flower has been my companion for quite a long time now. I help her to live, to breathe, to be free. In return, she gives me the companionship I’ve prayed for so long.

She is my answered prayer.

And It is my job to make her feel the best flower among the rest.

Every morning, I greet her with words as sweet as her scent. I stand in awe the moment the sun shimmers, beams of light slowly tiptoeing from her petals down to the soil where she stands.

She is beautiful. Always.

I sprinkle her with water daily, so she may never thirst. I offer her space, the best one I could find in the house. I let her stand on the healthiest soil, and let her breathe the most soothing breeze.

I allow her friends, the bees, to visit and keep her company when I’m away…

So that she may bloom! Grow in the best way.

But it has never been easy.

She is silent.

Sometimes, I wonder what she thinks. She’s never been vocal about how she feels.

I spend hours trying to figure out what I did wrong.

“Did I give her enough water to drink? Or was it too much? Was the breeze too cold? Or too gentle as too safe?”

“Was the sun too harsh for her? Or did it hide behind the clouds to deprive my precious flower of warmth?”

“Had the bees forgotten to visit her? Had the soil become too stiff for her to dance and sway her vibrant petals?”

“Is she happy?”

Now comes the hardest part of a gardener’s life…when he becomes so absorbed with his own doubts, fears, and imperfections.

Being a gardener, I live with uncertainty…the uncertainty as to whether my flower is satisfied with my care or not…

The uncertainty as to whether she loves me the way I love her…

The uncertainty as to when she decides to lift her feet to fly with the wind

Or to bend down, to die.

To leave and wave goodbye.

Standard