He reached the top of the hill and stood quiet for a moment, looking out at the view. Behind him lay a grove of trees, bending and swaying in the spring breeze. The effect was mesmerising, and the old man stood lost in his memories for several minutes before coming to. With a deep sigh....not a sad sigh, per say, but a resigned sigh.....he took the shovel out of the wheelbarrow and started digging a small hole.
He slowly bent down to his knees, hearing them make popping sounds. He took the hosta he had wheeled up, removed the plastic pot, and set it into the hole, breaking the root ball up a little as he did so. He settled it firmly, and patted the soil he'd dug back in around the stem, softly and lovingly. He then took a bottle of water he'd carried up and poured it all around until the soil was nice and moist. "There you go, little fella," he whispered, "you'll do nice here, I think. You'll both be good for each other."
He took more time standing back up again, the same joints moaning, and then dusted the dirt off his pants and hands. He stood back to check his handywork. "Could be just a little more to the left, but you don't mind, do you?" he said. He reached his arms up towards the sky, stretching as far as his 80 year old body would let him, making more joints pop. He stood for a few more moments, let out another deep sigh, and made ready to go. "I hope you enjoy it, Ella," he whispered, and patted his late wife's tombstone with his gnarled hand. "I dug it up out of your garden, it's one of them you planted just last year."
He wanted to say more, but he knew that his Ella understood. He put the shovel and water bottle back in the wheelbarrow, and slowly walked back down the hill of the cemetery, remembering years gone past.... and Ella young and green and vibrant in her sundress, working in her garden.
copyright Steven Clark 2014
Photo Prompt for week #2
Posted for The Blogging Lounge
