The Garden Of Flowers Or Words

There’s a couple living not far from me, and they are diligent gardeners. I often see them busy in their front yard, planting, clipping, digging, weeding during the spring or summer time. However their front yard still looks as unattended and neglected as those of other immigrants, who think that mowing the lawn is the best they can do to beautify the exterior of their properties. I often wonder why the couple continue to do it year after year. So much effort, so little result. If it were me, I would have given up long ago.

Then one day, walking past the place, I suddenly realize why the couple do what they do. Very likely it is due to the fact that across the street from them, there lives an old Italian couple. Their house is small and modest, but since it is at a corner, their front yard spreads to the curb. And the old Italian couple decorate their front yard as if it is a fairy land from a fairy tale. Two stone fountains, several stone boys, many stone birds, one stone rabbit, pots and pots of flowers hanging from the ceiling of the front porch or lining each step of the front stairs. Numerous butterfly decorations on sticks and there is a shrine like statue of Saint Mary (or some other saint who I don’t know the name of) surrounded by several winged angels, with a stone boy playing flute on the side. From spring to autumn, flowers burst everywhere…

I feel that I am very much like the Asian immigrant couple, although my vanity doesn’t lie in gardens and my emulation has nothing to do with flowers. When I read something written really well, I often feel that I will never write that well. My garden of words will never be as beautiful as those other gardens…

But I will continue nonetheless until I reach my goal, give up, or die trying.

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Image by Vũ Phạm Phương Linh from Pixabay