The garden had once been beautiful, a retreat full of life and color. Vines climbed stone walls, roses blossoming off the stems. Lavender grew in nice neat rows, filling the garden with a calming fragrance. In the center, stood an old oak tree, its branches spreading over the garden protecting it.
Sophie had spent years and dedicated time to cultivating this garden. Every morning she would kneel and mend to the soil, pulling weeds where she found them and planting seeds. She knew the rhythms of the garden as she knew the back of her hand.
But the oak- the protector of her garden- was dying.
It had started off slow. A few brown leaves here, a fallen branch there. At first, Sophie thought it was just a phase, a reaction to recent crude weather conditions. She prayed the damage from the tree would stop with time. She watered her protector more, fed the soil with love and nutrients, and pruned its weakest branches. Yet the tree continued to wither and harm the garden.
As weeks turned into months, Sophies measures turned desperate. She called in an arborist, who examined the tree. They shook their heads with quiet sympathy. It was rot, was what they had told her. Deep inside, where sophies eyes couldn’t see, a sickness was spreading.
Still, Sophie refused to give up, She poured her whole heart into the oak, tending to it as though she alone could restore its strength. She ignored the growing patches of decay and the hallow sound when she tapped the trunk. The tree was her other half; to lose it was the unthinkable.
What Sophie didn’t know was that the oak did not want to live anymore. Its not that it didn’t love the garden, but that it had come to be fond of a new garden. The soil that had once made him rich now became useless. The comfort and love Sophie once used to bring the oak, was not felt anymore. Its not because she stopped showing the oak love, in fact, it was the opposite. The oak was not fond of Sophies love anymore. He had grown tired of it; bored.
One crisp winter morning, Emma stood in the garden, a saw in her hands. The decision had come in the night, a clarity born from exhaustion and heartache. The oak was beyond trying to save. If she didn’t act, more damage would be caused to the already suffering garden. The rot would spread to surrounding plants. It would choke the life out of the garden she had swore to protect and take care of.
Her hands trembled as she placed the saw against the bark. The first cut was shallow, a tentative breach into a companion she had loved for decades. The sound of the blade biting the wood was raw, almost unbearable. She paused, her chest tight, and looked up at the branches above. They went unmoving as if not wanting to give her a farewell.
She hadn’t realized until that moment that she had started to cry. Tears streamed down her face as she gasped for a breath. She knew that this is what needed to be done to save her garden; and herself.
She pressed on.
The work was grueling. Each stroke of the saw was met with betrayal and regret but also of necessity. She thought of the roses that would bloom brighter with more sunlight, the lavender that would that would give off more fragrance without the oaks shadow. She thought of the Garden she could rebuild to its fullest potential, even if she mourned the tree she couldn’t.
When the oak finally fell, it landed with a thunderous crash and damaged the last of the garden in its path. Sophie dropped the saw besides her and stared at the fallen oak, her shoulders dropped at the thought of what she had just done.
Sophie knelt besides the fallen tree, running her hands over the bark she had poured all her love, secrets, and desires into. It felt rough and cold underneath her fingertip; foreign. As she began to stand, and looked around the rest of the garden, a sudden peace fell upon her.
This was for the better.
This is for the better.
Weeks later, when spring settled in, Sophie planted new seeds where the oak had once stood. She worked the solid with care, whispering silent apologies to the space as she buried the seeds. She watered the ground and covered it with mulch, knowing it would take time for life to return.
When spring came close to an end, flowers emerged from the ground, reaching for the sunlight that now poured into the garden. Sophie stood before them and cried for the last time.
Sometimes, love meant holding on.
Other times, it meant letting go.
Lindsay Walker heralds from Salem, Massachusetts ( the city of witches). Living in Salem can be chaotic, especially in October during Halloween! Lindsay is 16 years old and has been creating writing without teacher-given prompts since around age ten. It started off as journaling, but slowly turned into poems and short stories about Lindsay's experiences with what Lindsay thought was love. Lindsay isa big sucker for romance and loves to read romance novels; currently, Lindsay's favorite author is Lauren Asher. These books spark some of Lindsay's writing pieces, though most Lindsay's work comes from Lindsay's experiences.
"Garden Companions" by catmccray is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
