The Rose
Once there was a girl who was given a garden to tend. She loved the garden and was very generous in her care. She diligently watered the flowers and made sure they received enough sun. Occasionally, she would be lax on weeding and keeping the pests away, but she was quick to intervene before any permanent damage occured. At times she was even a little overindulgent with the flowers - singing to them or telling them grand stories of gardeners and beautiful vases that they may one day dwell in. Over all, these flowers had a nurturing environment to grow in. None more than the rose in the center of the garden. It was her crowning glory and she was so eager to see the rose bloom and mature. But it was still a bud and needed more time to grow.
Occassionally, gardeners would stop by and ask to take a look inside the garden - especially that rose. She was very polite and said they could look from the gate, but the rose wasn't quite ready yet. The gardeners looked from their spot but soon grew impatient and moved on to other gardens. The girl didn't concern herself with them. She was more absorbed with her nearly blossoming rose.
One day while caring for her garden, a gardener stopped by. She met him at the gate and talked for a bit. He didn't say much about the garden, but instead talked to the girl. They talked so long the sun had nearly set. The girl excused herself and the gardener said he'd come back tomorrow. The girl smiled to herself because gardeners often said this, but never came back.
The next day the girl was watering her neglected garden when who should show up but the man from the day before! She was pleased despite herself. Even the rose seemed to give off a sweeter fragrance. He called to her from the gate. She was behind from the day before, so she asked if he knew about tending to flowers. He smiled. He was a gardener after all. He specialized in flowers.
So she let him in, but she was careful to only let him handle the surrounding daisies - never the rose. How the garden bloomed! He showed her all sorts of gardening techniques she'd never accomplished by herself. He gave her soil that made the colors brighter. He brought her water that enhanced the smell of the flowers. And he was always so very patient with the delicate buds.
The girl grew to trust this gardener and finally she showed him the rose. She even let him care for it under her diligent supervision. Through his care, the rose finally bloomed. And it was beautiful - deep crimson with a soft, gentle perfume. The girl was so captivated in watching her rose grow and bloom she started neglecting other parts of her garden.
She even grew lax on watching what the gardener was doing to the flowers because she was consumed with her rose. Weeds crept back and started smothering the daisies. Sometimes the gardener wasn't careful where he stepped and would trample the flowers. On one occasion, he even accidentally pulled a petal of the rose.
The girl was quick to forgive, but she never gave him permission to pluck the rose, even though he asked on occasion. She knew this gardener was not the rightful owner of her rose, but he had done so much for it she couldn't let him go.
Finally, one day he appeared at the gate without his tools. He told her he couldn't come back anymore. She was upset, but understood. She took his hand and lead him back to the flower that he had tenderly coaxed into maturity. She would never forget him because of that. She also knew part of the rose would always belong to him. So she knelt in the dirt and plucked a few of the soft petals and handed them to him. He left, never thinking to close the gate behind him.
A steady rainstorm passed through and the girl was too preoccupied with her rose to guard against it. She just sat in the dirt and looked at the bruised rose and tried to think of a way to fix it while the rain washed over her. Suddenly there was a patch of sunlight over the garden. Dazed, the girl looked up. Standing over her was a gardener she was familiar with, but one who had never asked to come into her garden. She was so pleased to see him, she didn't consider the fact that he had let himself in.
They sat and talked because they could help each other feel better. The girl had a slowly wilting rose and the gardener had a rusted spade. Together they worked to help the other recover. Before long the girl had some order back to her garden. The pests were at bay and the weeds were mostly gone, although she had lost a section of daisies permanently.
The rose was growing again, and though still beautiful, would never be whole again. The gardener didn't seem to mind, for now his spade was workable again. It still had some rust spots, but it was keen and usuable. Under his new care the flower gave off a different aroma - more heady, deeper than before, almost intoxicating.
Initially, the gardener was just as tender as the first. But he quickly became carless. But, again, the girl wanted to watch the rose bloom so she didn't correct the gardener. She also didn't notice that this gardener took liberties where the first hadn't. Her first gardener always asked permission before tending. The second never did. The girl wasn't happy with this, but she so enjoyed this gardener, she was afraid that if she became firm he would leave. After all, he no longer needed her help restoring his spade.
One day, they were admiring their newly restored (though incomplete) articles when suddenly the gardener took his blade and cut the rose loose from the soil. The girl didn't know what to do. She was terrified. The gardener held it to his nose and, breathed in deeply. He held it for awhile, toying with it, playing with the petals, the leaves and even picking at the ragged edge of the stem.
He took one more deep drag, and then frowned. He shrugged, tossed the rose to the ground and said he supposed he didn't want it after all. And he walked away, taking his dangerous spade with him.
The girl was desperate at this point. The wind began to swell and it was all the girl could do to pick up the rose and and cup it to her chest. The wind raged, pulling up other flowers from their roots and tossing them about. She was devistated. She knew the rose wouldn't last much longer without a vase to hold it. Already it was loosing it's scent.
Through the whirlwind, she saw a shadow at the gate. She called out to it, begging the figure to help. He reluctantly entered and looked over her newly devistated garden with a dismissive air. She finally coaxed him down next to her. She recognized this gardener. He had visited before but had never expressed an interest in her garden. She was ashamed of her rose to offer it to him outright, but she did everything in her power to try and give it to him.
Occassionally, she thought he was interested, but he would never do or say anything conclusively. Finally, knowing her rose would die any minute, she opened her hands and presented it to him. She looked at her once beautiful rose. It was now almost gray in color, shriveled into a mere shadow of what it once was. The formerly sweet scent was barely perceptable. The rose was barely alive, but she ws certain that with special care it would thrive again.
To her dismay, the gardener didn't even acknowledge her gift. He simply pushed his boot into the parched soil, lifted himself up and walked out of the gate.
The girl let the rose fall to the ground. She looked around her once thriving garden. It was nearly barren except for the weeds. The soil was useless after being neglected so long. Even the pests were gone after demolishing everything.
The girl saw only two choices before her. She could lock the gate never to let anyone enter again. She could pour cement over the remains of the garden to ensure nothing would grow ever again. It was rash, she knew, but there would be no more risk of watching her flowers grow and be mistreated by thoughtless gardeners. She would never see the beauty of her flowers as they blossomed, but she would never have to go through the pain of having her rose die again.
She picked up the rose she had nearly given up on and considered her second option. As painful and shaming as it would be, she could call upone the Gardener who had given her the rose to tend to and give it back to Him to care for. She would still have a damaged garden, but it would eventually recover. It ran the risk of being devestated again, but wasnt' that what gardening was all about?
The girl stood, broken rose in hand, walked to the gate and closed it gently.
Occassionally, gardeners would stop by and ask to take a look inside the garden - especially that rose. She was very polite and said they could look from the gate, but the rose wasn't quite ready yet. The gardeners looked from their spot but soon grew impatient and moved on to other gardens. The girl didn't concern herself with them. She was more absorbed with her nearly blossoming rose.
One day while caring for her garden, a gardener stopped by. She met him at the gate and talked for a bit. He didn't say much about the garden, but instead talked to the girl. They talked so long the sun had nearly set. The girl excused herself and the gardener said he'd come back tomorrow. The girl smiled to herself because gardeners often said this, but never came back.
The next day the girl was watering her neglected garden when who should show up but the man from the day before! She was pleased despite herself. Even the rose seemed to give off a sweeter fragrance. He called to her from the gate. She was behind from the day before, so she asked if he knew about tending to flowers. He smiled. He was a gardener after all. He specialized in flowers.
So she let him in, but she was careful to only let him handle the surrounding daisies - never the rose. How the garden bloomed! He showed her all sorts of gardening techniques she'd never accomplished by herself. He gave her soil that made the colors brighter. He brought her water that enhanced the smell of the flowers. And he was always so very patient with the delicate buds.
The girl grew to trust this gardener and finally she showed him the rose. She even let him care for it under her diligent supervision. Through his care, the rose finally bloomed. And it was beautiful - deep crimson with a soft, gentle perfume. The girl was so captivated in watching her rose grow and bloom she started neglecting other parts of her garden.
She even grew lax on watching what the gardener was doing to the flowers because she was consumed with her rose. Weeds crept back and started smothering the daisies. Sometimes the gardener wasn't careful where he stepped and would trample the flowers. On one occasion, he even accidentally pulled a petal of the rose.
The girl was quick to forgive, but she never gave him permission to pluck the rose, even though he asked on occasion. She knew this gardener was not the rightful owner of her rose, but he had done so much for it she couldn't let him go.
Finally, one day he appeared at the gate without his tools. He told her he couldn't come back anymore. She was upset, but understood. She took his hand and lead him back to the flower that he had tenderly coaxed into maturity. She would never forget him because of that. She also knew part of the rose would always belong to him. So she knelt in the dirt and plucked a few of the soft petals and handed them to him. He left, never thinking to close the gate behind him.
A steady rainstorm passed through and the girl was too preoccupied with her rose to guard against it. She just sat in the dirt and looked at the bruised rose and tried to think of a way to fix it while the rain washed over her. Suddenly there was a patch of sunlight over the garden. Dazed, the girl looked up. Standing over her was a gardener she was familiar with, but one who had never asked to come into her garden. She was so pleased to see him, she didn't consider the fact that he had let himself in.
They sat and talked because they could help each other feel better. The girl had a slowly wilting rose and the gardener had a rusted spade. Together they worked to help the other recover. Before long the girl had some order back to her garden. The pests were at bay and the weeds were mostly gone, although she had lost a section of daisies permanently.
The rose was growing again, and though still beautiful, would never be whole again. The gardener didn't seem to mind, for now his spade was workable again. It still had some rust spots, but it was keen and usuable. Under his new care the flower gave off a different aroma - more heady, deeper than before, almost intoxicating.
Initially, the gardener was just as tender as the first. But he quickly became carless. But, again, the girl wanted to watch the rose bloom so she didn't correct the gardener. She also didn't notice that this gardener took liberties where the first hadn't. Her first gardener always asked permission before tending. The second never did. The girl wasn't happy with this, but she so enjoyed this gardener, she was afraid that if she became firm he would leave. After all, he no longer needed her help restoring his spade.
One day, they were admiring their newly restored (though incomplete) articles when suddenly the gardener took his blade and cut the rose loose from the soil. The girl didn't know what to do. She was terrified. The gardener held it to his nose and, breathed in deeply. He held it for awhile, toying with it, playing with the petals, the leaves and even picking at the ragged edge of the stem.
He took one more deep drag, and then frowned. He shrugged, tossed the rose to the ground and said he supposed he didn't want it after all. And he walked away, taking his dangerous spade with him.
The girl was desperate at this point. The wind began to swell and it was all the girl could do to pick up the rose and and cup it to her chest. The wind raged, pulling up other flowers from their roots and tossing them about. She was devistated. She knew the rose wouldn't last much longer without a vase to hold it. Already it was loosing it's scent.
Through the whirlwind, she saw a shadow at the gate. She called out to it, begging the figure to help. He reluctantly entered and looked over her newly devistated garden with a dismissive air. She finally coaxed him down next to her. She recognized this gardener. He had visited before but had never expressed an interest in her garden. She was ashamed of her rose to offer it to him outright, but she did everything in her power to try and give it to him.
Occassionally, she thought he was interested, but he would never do or say anything conclusively. Finally, knowing her rose would die any minute, she opened her hands and presented it to him. She looked at her once beautiful rose. It was now almost gray in color, shriveled into a mere shadow of what it once was. The formerly sweet scent was barely perceptable. The rose was barely alive, but she ws certain that with special care it would thrive again.
To her dismay, the gardener didn't even acknowledge her gift. He simply pushed his boot into the parched soil, lifted himself up and walked out of the gate.
The girl let the rose fall to the ground. She looked around her once thriving garden. It was nearly barren except for the weeds. The soil was useless after being neglected so long. Even the pests were gone after demolishing everything.
The girl saw only two choices before her. She could lock the gate never to let anyone enter again. She could pour cement over the remains of the garden to ensure nothing would grow ever again. It was rash, she knew, but there would be no more risk of watching her flowers grow and be mistreated by thoughtless gardeners. She would never see the beauty of her flowers as they blossomed, but she would never have to go through the pain of having her rose die again.
She picked up the rose she had nearly given up on and considered her second option. As painful and shaming as it would be, she could call upone the Gardener who had given her the rose to tend to and give it back to Him to care for. She would still have a damaged garden, but it would eventually recover. It ran the risk of being devestated again, but wasnt' that what gardening was all about?
The girl stood, broken rose in hand, walked to the gate and closed it gently.