|"... the string bean grows, blossoms, seeds. "|
Missing the familiar presence of the few green leaves, the old lady leaves her lonely room and each day goes discreetly to see her plant. With enough sun and water, drawing strength from the rich earth, the string bean grows (crece), blossoms (florece) , seeds ( salen semillas) .
Nobody knows it is hers, her own secret garden. She has saved it, and seeing it grow is her comfort and joy, day and night. Soon it reaches out above the hedge that has hidden it and kept it from harm.
One day she arrives to find gardeners at work, planting and pruning (podando) , clipping and cutting. She is just in time to see them approach her string bean. It’s presence upsets the harmony of the design. It is an intruder. She doesn’t dare ( no se atreve) rush in, to tell these men. She waits, her heart racing. And one of the gardener pulls out the string bean and throws it on the ground (suelo) .
When the men leave for lunch and she is alone, the old lady gently lifts the broken plant. It is dead, and the leaves are already fading. She looks at it for a long time.
She picks some of the string beans and holds them in her hand as a bouquet. Quickly she returns to her room. She puts soil from the gardens in the pot, and in it plants three new seeds (semillas) . Everything will begin again, as before, perhaps even better than before.
Behind her window, the old lady once again is on the look-out, her eyes fixed on the little pot of earth where the three little seeds sleep. This time she will know how to protect them, when to move them, when to bring them home. A healthy, quiet rain comes from the sky, falling gently on the pot and the life it contains.
|"... quiet rain comes from the sky, falling gently on the pot..."|