The Garden
Hot and sweaty she enters the house. The flowerbed is ready now for planting. She walks into the bathroom and looks into the mirror for her reflection. Studying the lines on her face that are beginning to show her age she looks at herself long and hard, searching for an answer. In her hand are the scissors that she purchased just for this. They are small, just the right size with a black handle and golden blades. She brushes her hair then takes the first section and lifts it up. With tears in her eyes she makes the first cut and lays the tendrils across the sink before picking up another section of hair. She works across the top first and methodically gathers the hair that falls laying them in a straight line as she then continues toward the back.
She studies her handiwork in the mirror, then lays the scissors down and runs her hand thru what is remaining, collecting any misshapen strands that might have been missed. Looking down she gathers up the hair and arranges it into a tight circle then goes out to the bed she has prepared outside. She places the hair in the hole that she had dug and removing the daisies from their container, places them firmly over the hair and into the earth. They will always remind her of him because of their sunny color. She fills the rest of the hole with the dirt that had been removed and runs her hand lovingly across the earth until the bed is even and smooth. Then she removes the other smaller flowers that she had selected and arranges them around the daisies, like the planets that revolve around the sun.
Looking at the completed garden she smiles a sad smile and waters them thoroughly before returning inside. Hot and sweaty again she returns to the bathroom, avoiding the mirror this time. Removing her sticky clothing she turns the shower on and cleans the dirt and sweat from her hands and body, then washes her hair thoroughly. Finished she turns off the water, drying her body and wrapping a towel around her head. Only then does she return to the mirror, dropping the towel to see the change. It’s only outer...but the feeling goes much deeper as she feels her body mourn his absence expressed through her locks of hair that too are missing.
Hot and sweaty she enters the house. The flowerbed is ready now for planting. She walks into the bathroom and looks into the mirror for her reflection. Studying the lines on her face that are beginning to show her age she looks at herself long and hard, searching for an answer. In her hand are the scissors that she purchased just for this. They are small, just the right size with a black handle and golden blades. She brushes her hair then takes the first section and lifts it up. With tears in her eyes she makes the first cut and lays the tendrils across the sink before picking up another section of hair. She works across the top first and methodically gathers the hair that falls laying them in a straight line as she then continues toward the back.
She studies her handiwork in the mirror, then lays the scissors down and runs her hand thru what is remaining, collecting any misshapen strands that might have been missed. Looking down she gathers up the hair and arranges it into a tight circle then goes out to the bed she has prepared outside. She places the hair in the hole that she had dug and removing the daisies from their container, places them firmly over the hair and into the earth. They will always remind her of him because of their sunny color. She fills the rest of the hole with the dirt that had been removed and runs her hand lovingly across the earth until the bed is even and smooth. Then she removes the other smaller flowers that she had selected and arranges them around the daisies, like the planets that revolve around the sun.
Looking at the completed garden she smiles a sad smile and waters them thoroughly before returning inside. Hot and sweaty again she returns to the bathroom, avoiding the mirror this time. Removing her sticky clothing she turns the shower on and cleans the dirt and sweat from her hands and body, then washes her hair thoroughly. Finished she turns off the water, drying her body and wrapping a towel around her head. Only then does she return to the mirror, dropping the towel to see the change. It’s only outer...but the feeling goes much deeper as she feels her body mourn his absence expressed through her locks of hair that too are missing.
