At the end of a long and winding road is a garden. This is where I think to myself about what I can write about. Because this is where my imagination flies and my thoughts come to life. The colors of these flowers are so bright and vibrant, but not exaggerated, just the right amount. They are beautiful in their own simple way and their scent evokes feelings of joy, excitement, and anticipation all at once.
Roses and lilies are the most popular in the garden, but there are many more beautiful flowers to admire.
This garden is like a dream come true. The flowers are colorful and abundant, covering a beautiful green lawn. Roses have yellow flowers and lilies have white petals. There is even an orchid growing on one of the marble benches in this garden.
I went and asked the woman who looks after the garden.
''Hello, how are you? I have been traveling for a long time and I have seen beautiful gardens in many places, but I have never seen a garden so **lovingly **cared for. It is as if every single flower is carefully tended. It is as if you know and recognizes every single plant. How did you manage to get such a perfect image from this small garden? What is your secret?''
The gardener woman looked at me. As if she had been waiting for years to be asked this question. Or as if today was a very important day for her and she needed someone to ask her a question so that she could talk.
Her **old **eyes were full of experience.
''My son,'' she said.
I was surprised.
She must have understood my astonishment because she pointed with her finger to a place in the middle of the garden surrounded by a fence. To get in there you had to pick a lock. Orchids were growing there. Did you remember?
I looked where she was pointing;
"What do you mean by my son?'' I asked.
''I lost my son in a car accident many years ago. This is where he is buried.
He loved flowers very much...''
I didn't know what to say.
There was silence for a while.
It was as if the sound of each passing second echoed in my ears.
The gardener woman must have understood this because she continued her speech and said;
"All the flowers here have a piece of my son in them. Earth takes and earth gives. Don't forget this. I take care of each one as if it were my own child, but some of them wither when winter comes. Some of them die. Just like my son...
It's okay...
Every living thing will taste death...''
She continued to take care of the roses on the side...
I have never seen an old person so at peace with birth and death.
There is a saying that no parent should outlive their own child. I began to think how true that might be.
Thank you very much for reading
