She picks up her worn and tattered, green gardening coat off the hanger along with her gloves before heading outside into the garden. A familiar friend, been through many seasons of growing and dying together. She fingers the hole in the sleeve remembering the sheers that made the break of fabric, a burn mark on the back piece from a blow torch. Some parts of the coat just permanently dirty, no amount of scrubbing and washing would soak in; she didn’t mind though. The smell is distinctly her, mixed with soil and sweat from her labors of love. Recalling when she ordered it five years ago from the catalog, untouched and completely void of any individuality or memories.
She rests her fibers on the wooden hanger waiting for the start of the day, in anticipation of that old familiar hand reaching for her. It comes expectantly, the warm body fills her insides, settling in the usual grooves and shrugging before comfortable. Stepping outside and feeling the wind, sun or rain hitting her full on. It was liberating. Getting in the dirt and feeling the foliage brush up against her, relaxing and welcomed. It’s not all roses, the blow torch for instance, missing fabric too but still she thinks that’s what makes her unique, being apart of something, being apart of someone.
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1 comment:
Wow! Nice piece, nice rewrite: I really like the double point of view, the very focused description with all those nitty gritty details. I know you must know already how you had the wind beneath you, lifting you right over any difficulties as you wrote, almost like someone else was doing the hard work. Always good to read one of those!
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