When The Gardener Sings

by Esther Davis

I taste the world. Bitter chemicals my neighbors sweat. The sweet nutrients my buried tendrils grasp. Refreshing water drawn through my roots. I feel the breeze ruffling my petals, the rain as it runs down my stem. I sense the sunlight tickling my leaves. Sense, but not see. I only see when the gardener sings.

His shadow interrupts the sunlight’s tickling, and cool liquid embraces my roots. It comes first as a low hum that vibrates my fibers. Then the hum becomes more.

I hear through the gardener’s ears and see through his eyes. A bed of swaying tulips rained on by a can, and a song. A song full of memories. Old. Ancient. He doesn’t know where the song began, only that his great-grandmother learned it from hers…


Read the rest of “When the Gardener Sings” and other short stories in A Dog, 3 Cats, and a Dragon.




While watering my dying strawberries, I wondered how I could revive them. Some people talk to their plants. Maybe that would work. But plants don’t have ears. How are they supposed to hear me? Unless…

Thanks for reading! For more monthly sketches subscribe above (or below for you mobile device people). You can follow me on Twitter @EstherDDavis.

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