If gardens could talk

They would tell you things no one has noticed. A story of a little boy who grew up loving Botanics, before he even knew it was a thing. The walking-creatures thought it took so little to make that boy happy, but their minds were poor, it took the heart of mother nature to sparkle his eyes.

They would tell you a tale of that grandma, who woke up before the others, before the sun, to smell the scent of her garden, as she watered her little piece of heaven. That grandma who loved her garden, as if it were one of her children.

They would whisper little secrets; like when two hearts beat one for the other, in a spring filled with wildflowers. Then by fall, the dry lawn would soak up the tears of that broken heart, shattered, and lonely. As a comfort, here’s my last pansy.

They would show you their regular guests, ants, and cats; roaming around, looking for crop seeds, or swallows nests. They would weep over a special place, where the family’s dog in peace, he rests.

They would confess not to trade for anything the late summer nights, when the grown-up kids stayed late under a starry sky, bringing up old memories, filling their drowsy parent’s hearts with love and nostalgy.