Wednesday, September 9, 2009

The Gardener
There was once a girl who wanted to be a gardener. Through the course of love in her life something happened to her; strange and peculiar perhaps, but with a resounding feeling. It started when she cried a tear. And the tear followed the crease of her face before it fell and turned into a seed. She picked it up and held it; held onto it. And then, when, she thought she’d found the right place she planted it on his lips.

After awhile of watching, waiting, hoping, but not knowing it, having already spread it’s roots down and through his skin and mind and heart, it began to grow. And, did it grow quickly and strong, before long sprouting. It grew flowers and foliage that were bright, warm colours, filling up all the eyes placed upon them with a feeling of warmth and love and satisfaction. There became an abundance of leaves; skin soft to touch, holding the weight of paper and expelling a scent of fresh. The ground all around the two of them felt soft and earthy and you could almost taste the soul seeping up from where some of the roots had pressed just through the earth reaching for open blue arms.

So, before long, not having expected so - though no one ever does - she realised that she loved it. She had fallen in love with the strength and beauty of those stretching warm colours, which contained in them all she was proud of, admired, desired and knew as life. She loved all that they became from the beginning; as just a single tear sown with a tender hope.

Imbued in her love with the beanstalk-like stretch to the clouds so intense, she neared herself to it and didn’t even realise an assimilation taking place. She was sowing herself to it; deliberately, intricately and infinitely. Her hair stretched itself out longer and longer, broader and thicker with the coverage of the foliage and her body thinned in places with the branches as she likened herself with all her like of the everything. She smiled and was happy.

Then, one day, and it was a day just like all the other warm, comforting, immense days a sole leaf flickered and twitched and then began to fall, lifting swiftly upwards a few times in the invisible hand of the wind before descending slowly and softly to the ground. With the one, having touched the soft, cosy home of earth, another slipped silently away as though sliced with a small surgical knife making an incision to commence an operation. The leaf fell as the other and watching helplessly she tried to reach out and catch it but nothing happened. She looked in all of the directions she knew and could and noticed more of the leaves stepping off and away from her. She tried again, to stretch her arms and hands out to catch some of them and collect their warmth, but she had no hands to do so. Every part of her was bound to it and to him and all she could do was will every single one with all her might to stay a little longer. She watched them so closely that she could see the slight cold eating into the brightness of each of them a little already.

Soon they were falling and not even clinging to the air like the first. They were tumbling, heavier than before. Heavy now, not with life but with the anvil of time. Like magnets, gravity seemed to pull them apart and down. It was like a sunset was raining all around her as far as could be seen and there was no horizon left, the lines between all spans of time she knew were blurred in a tangerine, purple haze.

Eventually everything was around and beneath her and him in a mound of dimming, fading embers; a melancholy, pretty mosaic of pride and desire and love. She looked up and could see the clouds now closing the door of the sky once so open above and everything seemed heavy as though it might push her into the ground. But, the earth was now buried and hard and cracking at the roots in those places reaching for the last light. She felt inside her sown up and together self and sought a tear to revive the glow of the darkening tower, but found nothing. She looked for long enough and in the moments she did locate something to excrete, a small salty, saturated tear made it’s way tracing those creases, now longer and older and deeper. But for being so, they never made it to the bottom to drop. They just gathered or ran until they were damp stains that stung like sores and she couldn’t bare them any longer, so she just closed her eyes and remained.

If you go to her, there, now, you can still see her stretched up and out in the world but baring nothing and seeing nothing and though the clouds’ doors occasionally open up and the roots thicken up out of the earth, not a single leaf becomes. And the tears won’t turn to seeds.

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