The Gardener

Every day I hear the same story: there´s no coffee, there´s no cinnamon and there´s no money. Every day I see those things that are missing and I suffer from it. Why do they keep telling me the facts when it is obvious that by saying them they won´t change. I wonder if one day they will realize that I can do nothing about it, I´m just the gardener; I´ve got no money, no coffee, no cinnamon either. I can see no difference between families; they are all but one with the same worries and ambitions. All children destroy red roses and leave the yellow ones alone. Girls hide their feelings in the garden and boys look at them desperately wishing they could to the same thing.

-I´m the gardener ma´am, can do nothin´ ´bout your situation. - I have to say

-You´re so selfish, all you care of is your little bushes and roses, I don´t even care about my garden, it won´t solve any of my troubles. - They reply.

I wonder what happened to all of these people, they seem so blind to me. Tulips and roses look the same for them, smell alike and receive the same name: flower. I know that a long time ago they thought they would enjoy their magnificent grass and take smoothies under the sun while reading a book. Of course there is no need to say none of those things happened. There is no man or woman strong enough to recognize they won´t realize this idealistic dream. They wish to believe that one day will be true, and as days go by the opportunity of realizing it goes away.

They stare at the empty shelves angrily and blame people like me or you for their misfortune; they would blame anyone that looks satisfied with life no matter what.

-But ma´am, everything is ´bout the garden, look how flowers blossom. – I’d say with a soft smile in my face.

-You´re not going to tell me there’s is beauty in it, are you? – They’d say with a tone of neglect.

-Well, I´d say there is more than beauty in it ma´am. But if you don´t care ´bout the garden, why do you keep it? - My voice would sound a bit sarcastic.

-Well…I would say, you are far too curious and insolent for a gardener. Keep working… 

That´s why I can´t really pay you, you talk way too much, and I bet you do the same thing with everybody.- They´d say as they raise their voice.

Most of the time I deal with ladies, but there are some gentlemen once in a while. They 

don´t complain about neither cinnamon nor coffee (and they never talk about money unless they’ve got plenty). Gentleman don’t talk much, they worry me the most though; I´ve got to work a little bit harder so they can see the birds, butterflies, bees and dragonflies coming in and out their garden.

Every day I´ve got to bring life into their homes and every day my hands end up full of cuts and stitches. But what I really take home is a total renovation of my senses. For I have no garden of my own I take everything I can from their life. Colors, smells, textures and tastes come to me as if they were something magical. I forget everything about the empty shelves and enjoy myself in this hedonic happiness. If they could only see what I do for them, they would enjoy things the way I do. In the meantime they can keep telling me how much it hurts not to have coffee, I can live with it.