As the bitter winter began to loosen its grip he eagerly made his way to his planting shed. Stepping into the dimly lit shed he took a deep breath, breathing in the aroma of dirt, of dust and the lingering odor of lavender from seasons gone by. It wasn’t as cold as it had been in the winters past but the depth of the snow had blocked his passage and he wondered how his little piece of heaven had weathered the season.
Smiling like a big kid he stepped further into the shed until he stood almost dead center. It seemed to have been such a long winter but in reality it had only been a few months since he last stood in that very spot. Running his hand along the shelf that held his starter pots he smiled warmly as he planned out this years garden.
Stepping to the planting table he blew at the thin layer of dirt covering the surface. It was the same every year after he had turned over his gardens. Just before he left the shed he would take a small handful of dirt from the bucket on the floor and scatter it over the planting table, “for good luck” he told himself. As the dust slowly settled back down he noticed a clump of dirt in the back corner and thought “how clumsy of me” thinking he may have jinxed his end of season ritual. Picking up the clump of dirt he squeezed it gently between his finger and thumb until the dirt gave way. Inside the clump was a bulb that left him perplexed. How did he miss this bulb and where did it come from? Thinking back he was positive he had planted all the bulbs he had and could not recall planting any that looked like this one. Turning it over in his hand he was now certain that this was not like any of the bulbs he had planted.
Closing his fingers over it he felt warmth radiate from it defying the chill of the air on a cold March morning. Remembering the gap between the rose bushes he grabbed a trowel and headed for the rose garden, hopeful that the little bulb that didn’t belong would fill that hole. Careful not to scratch himself he dug a hole just big enough for the bulb and dropped it into the soil. Covering and tapping the dirt he wondered what it would grow up to be.
As the days passed by and the warmth of the sun increased his carefully planned gardens began to push up from their wintry sleep. Crocuses, daffodils and tulips first sprang forth poking from the ground like precious gems. Throughout his many gardens new life begin to sprout, his careful planning was bringing forth a spectacular show of colours. Glancing towards his most prized flowers, his rose gardens still had not begun to thrive. “They always like to wait until the rest have finished showing off” was his thought as he mounded the dirt up against their long stems. Digging and fertilizing he caught his jacket on a thorn and instantly thought of the odd bulb he had planted in amongst his roses. “Just as I thought, it was dud” he thought and went about mulching.
Throughout the Spring his gardens continued to bloom with many vibrant hues of colour and aromas that changed from sunrise to sunset. No two days were ever the same and by now even his roses were displaying the depth of their beauty. Covered over by mulch and the leaves from the roses the tiny bulb began its new life. In amongst the twist of thorns a slender stem was reaching skyward, tall, thin and unnoticed.
Spring slowly gave way to Summer as the gardens swam in colour and their sweet fragrance wafted throughout the yard. Every flower was now in full bloom and he smiled broadly at his creations. Looking at his roses he snorted at the singular stemmed flower, “didn’t fill out to be much at all”, as the roses around it swayed gently in the breeze. It looked quite out of place in amongst the thorns and roses.
As the days grew shorter and cooler air began to arrive the flowers slowly start to fade. One by one the cycle of their life has come full circle and another season had ended for them. The roses had also begun to fade as their blooms have all but gone. In amongst them the one lone bulb that produced one single flower had almost reached the end of its colourful life, of all the flowers it was the last to grow, the last to bloom.
Just before the cold winds came the gardener set about turning over his gardens. One by one all the bulbs are dug up, bagged and labeled to be stored away until next year. All the annuals have been dug up and the perennials have all been clipped back down. As he has done every year, he has left the roses to last to cut back and wrap against the harsh winter season. As he cuts back the roses closest to the single bulb he gives a sigh as he clips off the blossoms head, “I really hoped it would amount to so much more” he thought as the jaws of clippers met.
Falling to the ground the faded flower snapped as it hit the soil spilling from within it dozens of tiny seeds, gone unnoticed until next year.
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