It wasn't an easy job, but she got it done with the help of a friend. The heavy physical work she had enjoyed. It was harder when she ran into the little plastic pots with plants her mother chose a year ago, before her illness forced her to move out. The plants were left unattended, only one little 'Broken Heart' survived. The daughter decided the Broken Heart could stay. Funny, she now realised that most of the plants she had ripped out of the ground and thrown on the pile outside her garden were plants her mother had chosen. Her mother had always been the one who arranged the garden.
But now the daughter was in charge of it herself, being very critical as to which plants were allowed to stay. Surprisingly few. That at least gave room to put in a lot of new "choicelings". She went down on her knees and dug little holes in the black earth to plant the seeds she had bought, or put in the small cuttings her friends had donated. Doing so was fun, she had visions of what they would like, once they were full grown.
She got up, scratched, sore and dirty, her work all done for now. With a satisfied sigh she looked at the result. Her mental picture of a sweet scented place rich in colors is gone, ridiculed by the dark and barren state the garden was in now. It was even less inviting than when it was overgrown.
That is the trying part of being a gardener... putting in hard work and hours of tending seeds that are invisible, somewhere in the cold earth. You have no guarantee that they will turn out as magnificently as you hoped for.
There's no luscious shade, scent or color now. And you cannot dig up the seeds to see if the roots are promising you any success. If you would...they'd die. There's only blind trust and loyalty to see you through this time of starting a new life.