He screeches into the driveway, the smell of the brakes perfuming the humid air. He spots her sitting under a tree in the corner of the yard preparing the soil for the winter garden.
Rusty tools are scattered around her in every direction. Bags of soil and fertilizer trail from her pickup to the entry gate each dropped as the weight overwhelmed her small frame…close enough.
She glanced up as he moved toward her, squinting in the mid day sunlight, with smudges of dirt caked on her cheeks where she’d wiped the sweat from her brow. A small plastic footstool underneath her helped her survey the coming harvest and visualize the vegetables breaking through the earth towards the sun- every day a little taller, a little more colorful, a little more flavorful.
Amnesia blanketed her smile- it was obvious that she did not remember the failure of the garden to thrive in the past few years and the barren infertile earth the chemical plant had left behind as a souvenir.
Joy and hope lit up the shaded corner and the brilliant taste of heirloom tomatoes almost knocked him down. He knows that memories overwhelm reality when you are facing defeat. But those same memories also help you begin again despite the odds.
©2010 Sharon JCorrigan