Creative Writing "Gardens"

I am no gardener, that is no secret. Even from a young age, I barely managed to keep alive the plants of the lowest caliber. If I had tried to tend to them, I probably would have killed weeds that would otherwise have thrived. I never let myself nurture that type of parasite though, so I convinced myself.

You can plant as many trees and flowers as you desire, but the true reward is never going to be instant. Any delayed gratification that comes about may end up disappointing you.

Give me a seedling. Tell me it is oak, and I will plant it in the ground. I will provide all I can, I would make the sun itself rise from its sleep to see you flourish. I will do all these things and yet as time passes, I disappoint myself in expecting some type of miracle.  As if all my attention and care could force you to flower and fruit and provide me with a tangible reward to sink my teeth into.

I see this marvelous tree, with astounding height and strength, something beautiful without any adjustments, and yet still remain sullen that I could not nurture you to fruitfulness. You could do all you ever had the potential to do, and yet here I am, disappointed with my efforts.

With tides coming in and out, moons waning and waxing, I am reminded of the time we have spent together already and I wonder: should I leave you be and find a new seedling, or enjoy your shade as you are?