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The
Expanding Garden
My mother was a quiet woman, her comfort
was found in ritual and habit rather than folly and fallacy. She had many sons.
Once at a family gathering, spurred by a single sherry, she shifted from her
usual well tempered manner and lyrically lamented a concern, a fear even. The
garden, she assured us had slowly but surely been expanding. In the past, the
garden hose had reached all corners and nooks of her well tended garden.
However, in recent times the hose did not. The only explanation was that the
plants were moving away from the house and the garden was expanding. The sons, attentively
listening to their mother’s story, knew otherwise.
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