A Story in A B C’s

gardener

At the corner of the street I’d see her.
Bright as usual, she lit up her front yard.
Cars whizzed by but she didn’t pay attention.
“Did she even know I was there?”
Exhuberant, was how most people described her.
Friendly, she would stop to chat as she puttered around her garden.
Gardening was her thing, her life’s blood.
How she made her yard so glorious I couldn’t say.
Ignoring the darkness in the world, she would make time for neighbours, ask about their day, share a smile.
Jewellery was something she never went without.
Keen to look good even with her hands in dirt was something I thought funny about her.
Lovely, she would carry herself with such grace.
Making every moment count was something I admired.
No one knew if she had any family since we hardly saw anyone visit.
Only when it rained, was she a missing fixture to that corner.
Planting the right flower or bush was her specialty.
Questions never went unanswered if you’d ask about what to grow.
Roses were her favourite, being “hardy and true” she’d say.
Stunning colours burst forth in pinks and reds and buttery yellows from her hedges.
The one thing she disliked though was winter because everything was hidden in snow,
Unlike me who is happy to stop gardening when its cold out.
Very averse to chill in the air, she would stay indoors but still wave from her window.
When spring came, she too would come alive again.
Xoxo, was written at the bottom of every Christmas card she would send so full of love and warmth.
Yearning for her beautiful face, I miss her dearly now as she passed away last year.
Zest, that spirit she shared will live on in the rest of us who knew her.

Copyright: Paula Antonello Moore prose, Tuesday, October 14, 2014

Image from Thinkstock by Getty Images.

Writing Challenge: Write a story in which each sentence will begin with a different letter of the alphabet, beginning with letter A and moving sequentially, i.e. B, C, D, and so forth. From 642 Things to Write About by the San Franscisco Writers’ Grotto.

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