This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 27; the 27th Edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The topic for this month is 'Once Again'.
The garden was a much favored and cherished abode; my favorite wonderland in the world. It was a quiet green glass palace that buzzed of insects and moist warmth of sort; resonating green, growth and life.
Every month or two, the creepers would look slightly more taller; crawling and entangling more intimately around the blue pipes on the walls, as if playing a careless game of sheer tomfoolery.. The moss draped walls accentuated with white (almost polka dotted) bird droppings; the rather regular little visitors that would exodus and entrada as they please, when they please.
I was a little visitor, myself. I was eight, and after the garden being my favorite place in the world came our Gardener, who was my favorite person in the world; in simple words of a petite heart.
So every afternoon when Joseph watered the plants, I'd sneak in and stand behind the netted door.
"Little Missus is here" ; he'd declare in a sing-song way to which I'd stick my tongue out at his hunched back. I'd eventually slip into his lap, while his green thumb would work around the pots.
So it was just an afternoon such when I sat on Joseph's lap while he recited ridiculous and vivid fictions about the dog flowers growing into real big dogs in a month or two and how the garden would echo of barks and smell of dog litter when suddenly I stopped laughing and sat queer still.
"What happened, Missus?"
"Joseph...that butterfly is dead!" ; Joseph followed my big round teary eyes to a yellow butterfly that lay dead on of the pots.
"Did the dogs kill it?" ; my lower lip jutted out.
"Yes, Missus. The dogs..killed it."
"Mad mad mad dogs! But it was so pretty!" ; I whined.
"It was, innit? But no worries, Little Missus. The dogs left behind the baby! We'll have a pretty little butterfly soon!" ; pointed Joseph at a cocoon.
"Once again?!" ; my eyes widened.
Joseph smiled ; "Yes Missus. Once again."
............And now, it feels strange. Standing in front of the coffin of the poor gardener who taught me the motley amphitheater of life and death at eight.
"Once again, Joseph" , I kept the dog flowers on top of the coffin beneath layers of which, lay his heart.