My mother has a garden. Well, it’s actually a quaint little setup in our balcony. It’s an adorable arrangement with a bunch of beautiful potted plants and a round swing at a corner- the kind that can lull you into a light sleep with it’s gentle soporific motions.
Something you should know about my mother is that she is a petite woman with a childlike persona and an ability to make the best of any situation. She likes to keep the optimism flowing whether for her own sake or the people around her, I don’t know. Perhaps, it’s both.
And those plants seem to give her some kind of inexplicable joy. Maybe it’s in the way they bloom so gracefully with bright colors that she enjoys the scenic beauty of the plants. They seem to provide her a sense of calm.
Or perhaps, it’s in the way the flowers crave warmth that she does too. I know she likes to bathe in the sunlight, evident in the way she sits facing the sun every morning. But I think it’s more than just feeling the sun rays cascade her skin.
I think she seeks the kind of thoughtful care she gives to the plants for herself.
It seems, my mother and her garden are not so different in their desires.
And I hope both of them feel content with the ones who care about them.
For the plants, my mother.
And for my mother, her family.