Photo Prompt courtesy of Delores at The Featherednest, http://mybabyjohn.blogspot.com/
She lived at the end of our road in a small, neat, white clapboard house. I used to pass her by as I went for my walk in the morning and I would see her again at night when I took Kerry, our dog, for his evening constitutional. She was always working in her garden. She was a lady up in her years and dressed in a big brimmed purple hat, a blue dress with a green apron and big yellow rubber shoes. She was a staple in the neighborhood, but I never knew her name. We always just called her "The Gardener". Once or twice a year I did stop to talk and tell her how I admired her plantings. She would always say, "Thank you, but I can't seem to get it just right this year." She seldom looked up and I wasn't sure if she was talking to me or herself. Her yard was lovely and and there was always something new to see. I wish, at times, I had taken the time to speak with her longer, but we all live busy lives and other than say hello, I went about my business and she with hers.
She has been gone for a few years now and the new owners have done away with most of her gardens. As I passed her home the other day, there in a crack in the pavement lay the daintiest of plants clinging to life among the weeds that were also choking to get out. I thought of leaning down and trying to pull it out, but then I thought of her, and it occurred to me that this might have been a seed from one of her flowers that had fallen between the sidewalk and laid dormant until now. I smiled, said hello, and walked on thinking that "The Gardner", in a way, was still there.