Gardening

Posted by Cynthia on September 2, 2009

Gardening

by C. G. Browning

 

            I slowly troweled the dry, unyielding soil of my garden. At one point I had believed my garden to grow the most verdant of crops, but now I knew it for what it was. I dropped a corn kernel into the soil and tamped down the earth. I would water the new crop and try coaxing life out of the ground. Sweat beaded on my brow as I labored in the hateful field under a merciless sun. I didn’t look across to my neighbor’s plot.

*  *  *

            She lay naked in the soft, rich earth, the life around her feeding her senses. He would be there soon. She breathed deeply of the moist air, tasting the heaviness of a laden dusk. He rose from the sod, urgent and pulsing. She rolled to meet him, tasting his earthiness.

*  *  *

            I plucked weeds, the only thing I seemed capable of growing. They grew between and around the rows, the rows that would allegedly produce vines, roots and stalks. There was no sign of my crop, just weeds. I pulled more out of the earth. My neighbor’s garden was neatly tended, the rows equidistant and in perfect alignment. Most of my rows were incomplete and of varying sizes. Not a single one was straight. Weeds were the only abundance in my garden. I risked another look at my neighbor. She smiled as she tended her seedlings, crooning softly to them. I looked away.

*  *  *

            Their sweat mingled with the dark, rich soil. He traced intricate patterns through the mud on her body. Thunder broke the skies, and warm rain cleansed them and watered the earth around them. Her need for him rose with every drop that ran into her mouth, down her breasts, and between her thighs.

*  *  *

            The rains came, but all it did for my garden was grow more weeds. On my knees once again, I pulled weeds, countless weeds. I nearly pulled up a feeble stalk of grain by accident, so intent was I on ridding my garden of the encroaching intruders. I sat back and looked across to my neighbor’s garden with envy. She had patches of beautiful orchids in every color of the rainbow. She had a few small strawberry pots and a section of herbs, but mostly flowers. I wondered how she got them to grow so vibrantly. I bowed my head, my tears watering the omnipresent weeds.

*  *  *

            His tongue flicked lightly at her throat, across her lips. She moaned and tossed her head, her eyes opening slowly to look at him. He was everything she wanted, needed, and he was hers. At least, he was hers for a while. He had been to other gardens she knew, but that didn’t matter. She only knew the here and now, and he was very present.

*  *  *

            I had heard of other gardens, rich and alive. They were beautiful and not prone to blight or poor yield. Some of them, like my neighbor’s garden, even had the luxury of flowers and ornamental plants. I looked at my slowly creeping vines and struggling gourds. My garden did not produce beautiful things as I had once believed it had. I had been blinded by the love I had for my little patch of earth, refusing to see it for what it was, a dry and barren waste. I poured bucket after burdensome bucket of water on my little crop.

*  *  *

            He caressed her, feeling her desire mount once again. He smiled knowing what he did to her. It’s what he did to all of them. Slowly he moved against her, in rhythm with her. The beauty of their garden would fade, but he didn’t care and neither did she. What mattered was the moment. She hadn’t noticed that the rain hadn’t fallen for days.

*  *  *

            My plants were growing, slow though they were. They certainly were nothing to look at, but they were nourishing. I would dry or can the excess to guard against future famine. My neighbor’s crops were beginning to wilt in the drought we were experiencing, but she faithfully tended her plants, her smile only fading slightly. I still envied her and the beauty of her garden just as I envied the luxurious gardens in more exotic places of the world. I sighed and pulled up the ubiquitous weeds and wondered if the beautiful gardens had weeds.

*  *  *

            The grass beneath her was yellow with drought, much like her soul. She still longed for him, but his lovemaking was no longer enough to quench the incredible thirst. He smiled at her, the longing glowing in his eyes as he fondled her breast. She turned her head to avoid his gaze, but opened herself up to him once again.

*  *  *

            The drought had affected gardens for miles around. My neighbor’s beautiful rainbow of orchids had fallen from their stalks and her small yield of strawberries weren’t enough to make more than a meal or two. She now looked enviously at my ugly but plentiful crop of drought-resistant corn, beans, and squash. I turned my head to avoid her ravening gaze.

*  *  *

            He left her gasping once again, but this time it was more than just physical pleasure and release. This time there was an ache, a yearning for more than the physical desire. Her gasps were cries for help, the need for sustenance. He sank back into the ground he had risen from, the soil now depleted of its nourishment. She wept into the dust.

*  *  *

            The keepers of the beautiful gardens of the earth wandered hopelessly, helplessly, their hollow-eyed gazes searching back and forth. My neighbor spent her days crying over her useless crop of dead orchids. I had stockpiles of unattractive, dirt-colored food. I knew the flavors of such foods were not vast or varied, but they were whole. I looked up and met my neighbor’s eyes, red-rimmed and empty. I looked away and saw the beautiful gardeners staring hungrily at my abundance. I bowed my head, took a deep breath, and looked back at them. Nodding, I up-ended the large basket I carried my supplies in. Gardening tools and gloves scattered as I put food in the basket. I approached the others and placed the basket on the parched, ruined earth where I had harvested my crop. The scars in the soil where I had dug were cast in sharp relief against the westering sun. I looked into the pained eyes of the beautiful gardeners and spread my hands in offering of the food. I would share with them what I had, grateful I had anything at all.