i want to be a gardener. This year my friends and I are building one of flowers and I am having a personal one with herbs. I’m really looking forward to cultivating my relationship with plants, and sharing love with them. I see a woman bent over flowers with a smile on her face, a watering can in her hand. For me it will likely be a garden hose (house hose) that I use. I hope it’s a place of bonding and connection and relaxation.
When you garden a garden you become a gardener. no reason to backspace, only take up space. When you garden there’s a completely different aspect to life, a tenderness and compelling understanding of how life is supposed to be.
Old man with lots of plants. smells bad with ginger son named lorrie. Carrots are his and his wives thing. you know for bed time. Gardens useally smell like shit with compost and cheese i like cheese but gardens. i have a garden it cool.
My grandmother, we called her Mimmie, had a gardener for her property growing up on Johnston Street. James was his name. His family had worked for my family for years. (too Southern for you)
He and I would sit outside and water the garden while sipping on diet cokes.
Last year James died of Leukemia. I haven’t seem him since I was seven.
And I still can’t drink a diet coke without smiling.
Randy wiped the sweat beading on his temple and squinted against the hot sun beating down on him. On his knees, deep in freshly raked soil, he watched his daughter climb the wooden castle he’d built. She was dishing out orders like a true queen. He smiled with pride, and continued his planting.
She was the sweetest old lady you have ever met. She was more than a gardener, she was one of my oldest friends. She had an amazing ways of telling stories with just her eyes. Her hands didn’t need to till the soil, it was for story making, and that’s exactly what she did.
That one kind man who loves the flowers like they’re his own child. He takes care of them, he waters them, and he doesn’t leave them even if they hurt him.
On June and Rachel.
You reminded me how I should sow the seeds of my own patch, before looking into other’s.
and bury my faith, like the deep rooted oak tree. And Rachel, on Grace.
she looked at him. he was hot and that was obvious, she would bring him some lemonade she thought, its just lemonade it wont hurt. and thats what she did, she took him some lemonade but the fell in love and even though her father dissaproved of the stable hand they were married
The gardener had a full day ahead of him. He had to prune the bushes, weed the garden and dig a hole 2×2 meters.It would be difficult. the sun scorched his back.
Sometimes, I think of the divine that way. Tending things quietly behind the scenes; not yelling at the corn to grow, but ensuring all the conditions are optimal that the corn may be as healthy and fruitful as possible. I just hope that, when the pesticides come out, we’re not the bugs.
He swept the sweat from his brow as he kept cutting the wild leaves from the bushes. He didn’t feel well that day. The sun was striking his head and he had no patience anymore. He threw his hat on the grass, took off his clothes and jumped into the swimming pool. He closed his eyes and stayed still.
Every morning he was there in the garden, plucking weeds out. Sometimes watering the plants, checking if the new seeds he planted need anything. He saw them grow, he nurtured them and looked after them. Just like a mother who looks after he baby.
The flowers sprouting bursting up from warm soil to greet the sun. With the curve of his hand the flower bends and a petal falls. He picks it up and presses it between his thumb and forefinger. And it grows sharp. In a flash his muscled arm slices through the air and the petal follows and cuts through the lock of the building door.
The gardener gazed over the horizon. Twilight wasn’t just a time of day, it was the one word that truly encapsulated his entire existence. Years, energy, excitement. All twilight. Just before dusk.
The gardener tended the white flowers.
He tended the brown dirt below the white flowers.
He tended the black coffins below the brown dirt.
But he did not tend what was in the coffins.
That was his wife’s job, and she did it well.
a gardener is someone who brings life up from the earth. They plant seeds. They nurture the seeds. They watch life unfold over and over. And the gardener knows of death. Death begets life.
The gardener tended the flowers. He tended the dirt below the flowers. He tended the coffins below the dirt. But he did not tend what was in the coffins. That was his wife’s job.
I wipe the dirt of my gloves and onto the dim lit ground. I could not believe I had just spent an entire day planting flowers. I guess that’s what summer is for, doing what you couldn’t do when your day was wasited with school.
The gardner is funny. He has a green thumb–literally. I don’t know why it’s green. It may be herbicide. Insecticide. Hell, he could have dipped his thumb into food coloring just for the comedic value.
On her particularly good days, Mikki would sometimes sit outside in Paradise. She couldn’t play with the smaller kids, but it felt nice to have real sunshine on her skin. The green world was much brighter than she remembered, before she was sick.
gardener. at first I thought of gardener snake. I used to play with them when I was younger… like.. 20 years ago. They’d climb in the cracks in the rock wall thing we had in our backyard.. gross. i’d never try to do that these days. ever. never ever. i’d be afraid of getting bitten! .. i would never be an actual gardener because of spiders!
the gardener folded over into the sun lit room the place the potted plant in the aisle of other flowers gently leaning in towards him as if waiting to be caressed with his sweet words. He whispered words the fed the flowers as he began the process of watering. The morning was cool and birds began to chirp songs of meditation as they gently flew in the garden room.
I have taken up the role as a gardener in my household ever since I was young. Plants to me are gifts from Heaven and nature means a lot to me. Even though they do not seem like the usual breathing organisms, they manage to light up a place with their magical green powers. The sight of green always makes me giddy because the colour itself is so mesmerizing. It can be calm at times and lively depending on my mood. When I water plants, I always whisper, “drink up little ones!”, and hope that they can quench their thirst on a warm day.
green person. green plants. knee pads. shovels and health. old age, growing wiser. conscious of nature and surroundings. lover of animals and life. hater of carbon fuels and hate. cultivating mind, body, and soul. people who love to love. family. life. growth.
My mother is a really good gardener. She always plants and picks the best vegetables. When I am older, I want to live in a house that has a greenhouse attached to it so my mother can follower her gardening dreams. I also would like to know how to garden myself. To learn all the secrets and lock them away in my own secret garden.
the trees stretch out the limbs, calling to him, longing for him. he feels the whispers of their secrets in the depths of his soul, but he cannot answer, cannot return their call. he can only lay beneath their limbs, work the soil around the roots, pour the water into their cervices. he can only return the kindnesses that they have given him the only way he knows how
Root whispers, a code
for other suns and the dirt
staining my white Sunday shirt,
though I’d planted my head
in the Earth and begged
to not hear of life,
and though they came with
the water to keep me alive,
I spent the summer
swallowing pesticides.
The new gardener is not, in fact, a new gardener at all. She has been working on and off for the Mills Residence ever since she was seventeen years of age; that was almost six years ago. She goes to a particularly temperamental patch of weeds and pulls her gloves back on. They smell faintly of lilacs and a trace of juniper.
Orville Mills is eighty-two years old. He has no idea who the gardener is, but he doesn’t remember much of anyone or anything these days.
She took away the grasses, replaced them with the brush
brambles, weeds and thorns grew from just a single touch
and although her heart was withered, there grew a single flower
not elegant or beautiful, but with tremendous power;
for that bloom was a simple notion, a single thought set free
that once her garden was swallowed, it would also be a tree
and those two grew together and drank up all the sun,
for their wish was eternity with the other one.
(You are my tree. I’m trying to be your flower.
Give me a lifetime, I’ll grow beside you forever.)
There was a garden in the backyard where wewould spend our evenings. It was overgrown and beautiful. When it rained the ground would soak up the water and the smell was the best in the world. We were the gardener, the designer, the soul owners of our own little home In the backyard.
i love the gardener he is really good at his job. He loves roses as do i just cant wait to see him agian i love helping him and watching him work
tending the soil, a daily toil. turning up dirt to find the way to make growth spurt. the worms and beetles, the fruits and dung.
i want to be a gardener. This year my friends and I are building one of flowers and I am having a personal one with herbs. I’m really looking forward to cultivating my relationship with plants, and sharing love with them. I see a woman bent over flowers with a smile on her face, a watering can in her hand. For me it will likely be a garden hose (house hose) that I use. I hope it’s a place of bonding and connection and relaxation.
When you garden a garden you become a gardener. no reason to backspace, only take up space. When you garden there’s a completely different aspect to life, a tenderness and compelling understanding of how life is supposed to be.
Old man with lots of plants. smells bad with ginger son named lorrie. Carrots are his and his wives thing. you know for bed time. Gardens useally smell like shit with compost and cheese i like cheese but gardens. i have a garden it cool.
My grandmother, we called her Mimmie, had a gardener for her property growing up on Johnston Street. James was his name. His family had worked for my family for years. (too Southern for you)
He and I would sit outside and water the garden while sipping on diet cokes.
Last year James died of Leukemia. I haven’t seem him since I was seven.
And I still can’t drink a diet coke without smiling.
Randy wiped the sweat beading on his temple and squinted against the hot sun beating down on him. On his knees, deep in freshly raked soil, he watched his daughter climb the wooden castle he’d built. She was dishing out orders like a true queen. He smiled with pride, and continued his planting.
Dirty hands dug deep in earth
nails full of
dirt.
Helping everything
continue on,
an electric connection.
She was the sweetest old lady you have ever met. She was more than a gardener, she was one of my oldest friends. She had an amazing ways of telling stories with just her eyes. Her hands didn’t need to till the soil, it was for story making, and that’s exactly what she did.
I often like to say that a good case takes an imaginative crime.
I also like to say that eccentric, obscure cases are my favourite.
But when I found the gardening shears stabbed into someone’s throat, I merely laughed.
It took me precisely 0.5 seconds to locate and arrest the suspect.
To be fair, I did enjoy his creativity immensely.
Dirty hands dug deep in earth
nails full of
everything.
Helping everything
continue on,
an electric connection.
That one kind man who loves the flowers like they’re his own child. He takes care of them, he waters them, and he doesn’t leave them even if they hurt him.
On June and Rachel.
You reminded me how I should sow the seeds of my own patch, before looking into other’s.
and bury my faith, like the deep rooted oak tree. And Rachel, on Grace.
she looked at him. he was hot and that was obvious, she would bring him some lemonade she thought, its just lemonade it wont hurt. and thats what she did, she took him some lemonade but the fell in love and even though her father dissaproved of the stable hand they were married
The gardener had a full day ahead of him. He had to prune the bushes, weed the garden and dig a hole 2×2 meters.It would be difficult. the sun scorched his back.
Sometimes, I think of the divine that way. Tending things quietly behind the scenes; not yelling at the corn to grow, but ensuring all the conditions are optimal that the corn may be as healthy and fruitful as possible. I just hope that, when the pesticides come out, we’re not the bugs.
He swept the sweat from his brow as he kept cutting the wild leaves from the bushes. He didn’t feel well that day. The sun was striking his head and he had no patience anymore. He threw his hat on the grass, took off his clothes and jumped into the swimming pool. He closed his eyes and stayed still.
Every morning he was there in the garden, plucking weeds out. Sometimes watering the plants, checking if the new seeds he planted need anything. He saw them grow, he nurtured them and looked after them. Just like a mother who looks after he baby.
I’ve failed so often at gardening. I forget to water and fertilise, but it would be so easy and rewarding.
The flowers sprouting bursting up from warm soil to greet the sun. With the curve of his hand the flower bends and a petal falls. He picks it up and presses it between his thumb and forefinger. And it grows sharp. In a flash his muscled arm slices through the air and the petal follows and cuts through the lock of the building door.
The gardener gazed over the horizon. Twilight wasn’t just a time of day, it was the one word that truly encapsulated his entire existence. Years, energy, excitement. All twilight. Just before dusk.
The gardener sees the colours of life. They feel the earth damp and warmed by the sun, and push seeds deep down. Green springs forth
The gardener tended the white flowers.
He tended the brown dirt below the white flowers.
He tended the black coffins below the brown dirt.
But he did not tend what was in the coffins.
That was his wife’s job, and she did it well.
a gardener is someone who brings life up from the earth. They plant seeds. They nurture the seeds. They watch life unfold over and over. And the gardener knows of death. Death begets life.
The gardener tended the flowers. He tended the dirt below the flowers. He tended the coffins below the dirt. But he did not tend what was in the coffins. That was his wife’s job.
I wipe the dirt of my gloves and onto the dim lit ground. I could not believe I had just spent an entire day planting flowers. I guess that’s what summer is for, doing what you couldn’t do when your day was wasited with school.
The gardner is funny. He has a green thumb–literally. I don’t know why it’s green. It may be herbicide. Insecticide. Hell, he could have dipped his thumb into food coloring just for the comedic value.
On her particularly good days, Mikki would sometimes sit outside in Paradise. She couldn’t play with the smaller kids, but it felt nice to have real sunshine on her skin. The green world was much brighter than she remembered, before she was sick.
gardener. at first I thought of gardener snake. I used to play with them when I was younger… like.. 20 years ago. They’d climb in the cracks in the rock wall thing we had in our backyard.. gross. i’d never try to do that these days. ever. never ever. i’d be afraid of getting bitten! .. i would never be an actual gardener because of spiders!
the gardener folded over into the sun lit room the place the potted plant in the aisle of other flowers gently leaning in towards him as if waiting to be caressed with his sweet words. He whispered words the fed the flowers as he began the process of watering. The morning was cool and birds began to chirp songs of meditation as they gently flew in the garden room.
I have taken up the role as a gardener in my household ever since I was young. Plants to me are gifts from Heaven and nature means a lot to me. Even though they do not seem like the usual breathing organisms, they manage to light up a place with their magical green powers. The sight of green always makes me giddy because the colour itself is so mesmerizing. It can be calm at times and lively depending on my mood. When I water plants, I always whisper, “drink up little ones!”, and hope that they can quench their thirst on a warm day.
green person. green plants. knee pads. shovels and health. old age, growing wiser. conscious of nature and surroundings. lover of animals and life. hater of carbon fuels and hate. cultivating mind, body, and soul. people who love to love. family. life. growth.
My mother is a really good gardener. She always plants and picks the best vegetables. When I am older, I want to live in a house that has a greenhouse attached to it so my mother can follower her gardening dreams. I also would like to know how to garden myself. To learn all the secrets and lock them away in my own secret garden.
the trees stretch out the limbs, calling to him, longing for him. he feels the whispers of their secrets in the depths of his soul, but he cannot answer, cannot return their call. he can only lay beneath their limbs, work the soil around the roots, pour the water into their cervices. he can only return the kindnesses that they have given him the only way he knows how
How important role a gardener plays.Garner took care of garden. Without a gardener, you can not imagine a beautiful garden.
Root whispers, a code
for other suns and the dirt
staining my white Sunday shirt,
though I’d planted my head
in the Earth and begged
to not hear of life,
and though they came with
the water to keep me alive,
I spent the summer
swallowing pesticides.
“Who’s the new gardener?”
The new gardener is not, in fact, a new gardener at all. She has been working on and off for the Mills Residence ever since she was seventeen years of age; that was almost six years ago. She goes to a particularly temperamental patch of weeds and pulls her gloves back on. They smell faintly of lilacs and a trace of juniper.
Orville Mills is eighty-two years old. He has no idea who the gardener is, but he doesn’t remember much of anyone or anything these days.
She took away the grasses, replaced them with the brush
brambles, weeds and thorns grew from just a single touch
and although her heart was withered, there grew a single flower
not elegant or beautiful, but with tremendous power;
for that bloom was a simple notion, a single thought set free
that once her garden was swallowed, it would also be a tree
and those two grew together and drank up all the sun,
for their wish was eternity with the other one.
(You are my tree. I’m trying to be your flower.
Give me a lifetime, I’ll grow beside you forever.)
There was a garden in the backyard where wewould spend our evenings. It was overgrown and beautiful. When it rained the ground would soak up the water and the smell was the best in the world. We were the gardener, the designer, the soul owners of our own little home In the backyard.
“Choice Kingdom” does pop to mind. It’s got a woodland, cottage-garden, spritely vibe to it.