The Gardener by RodG |
"You found me, Allen. Did you think I was lost?" asked my 96-year-old mother-in-law.
She was sitting in Springhaven's rear garden, her hands folded in her lap. I smiled. "No, your daughter said you'd likely be outside on this lovely Easter." "So much coming up, Dear, I had to take a peek. That long-haired man with a beard identified every plant for me. A gardener, I think. He has a soft smile much like yours, but his soil-crusted hands are so scarred." I looked around the small flower-filled courtyard, but saw no one.
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