In my youth I was a novice gardener who after planting a few flowers realized he could use some help and turned to a more experienced Master Gardener for advice and assistance. Out of a lack of confidence, I allowed him to plant in my garden knowing he was wiser and had better skills. I was trusting and didn’t do my due diligence and by not doing this I remained blissfully ignorant. I didn’t seek out different views or research various opposing ideas on how to make a garden. I looked to a single source to read about plants and their possibilities. I elected to read only one book, written by the gardener himself. He cautioned me not to look to others, for they wanted nothing more than to destroy my plot. He forewarned that these men were false and would saturate my garden with nothing but dandelions.

His flowers, they were magnificent and lovely, springing up almost instantaneously. They grew easily in my fertile soil. Over time his flora grew tall giving my fragile flowers shelter from the hot sun. They buffered my tiny breakable plants from the wind. I thanked and praised him for protecting the plants I had planted.

Over time the leaves of these giants that once gave my growth shade now cut out the sun entirely. Their stronger and more efficient roots began to curl and wind themselves through and around my small delicate saplings. These roots began to drain all the moisture and nutrients away from the very plants for which they had appeared to provide a safe haven.

His plants became leviathans obscuring my plantings from view. The beauty of my flowers was now overshadowed by the exquisite creations he had planted in my rich earth. My plants grew weaker in parallel to his growing stronger.

I was told, and in time believed, that my sprouts were not pretty. In fact they carried an odor that was fouling the air around the real flowers. I was chided for my lack of skills and was commanded to dig out my greenery to make room for his.

I could see that what I had planted was weak and wilted. They didn’t have the fresh smells I once enjoyed. I submitted to his will and spent years weeding and digging out these insipid things I had stuck in the ground. I was embarrassed to show anyone the weeds I had grown. Compared to my mentor I was a complete failure. I began to see and believe that only his flowers had worth. One day I realized, it was no longer my garden but that of the Master Gardener.

Hey Earlybird,

Your story is a powerful and affecting allegory about your experience. I'm hoping that there is another installment coming talking about what happens next.

-efm

Thank you efm

for being so kind in your response. I hadn't considered a sequel. Hummmm, what would that look like? You got my mind working. Again thanks for your post. Earlybird

Earlybird,

Wow, buddy! You are a good writer! I knew you had a knack for poetry, but prose?! Whoa! I think you're a better writer than I am!

If you feel like it, share how you came up with the idea. What made you think of writing your experience this way, and where did you get the imagery from? You might help others here who would like to tell their stories in different ways, too.

Good job, my friend.

Bobcat