The day is young and so is the child in the large patch of freshly-turned dirt marked off by short wooden posts. The sun beats down on the old man’s back. A quaint brown bag sits to the side, anticipating the rough feeling of the man’s hands, which had seen things unimaginable.
The child and the man were not speaking, nor did they need to. They possessed an unparalleled bond, held together by sweet cucumbers and ripe tomatoes, tall corn, and red seeds. Finally, the bag is lifted, the seeds tumble out into the light as the man turns to face the child. Smiles were shared between the child and the man as the child took these tiny gifts as if they were bars of gold. Together, always together, they sprinkled the seeds into each small hole in the dirt. Each seed held the memories that would grow in the approaching summer. The seeds lay in the hole while the man and child finished planting the happy times and covered these with the dirt the world had given them. As the seeds grew, the child and man danced between the rows of green together.
Years pass, the old man fades to gray as the child absorbs his light. The grass grows taller, overtaking the memories shared. A decaying mountain of leaves and branches replace the child’s safe haven. Finally, the child returns to this overgrown sacred place, alone. She remembers the happiness covered with the busyness of the grass and feels the warmth of her grandfather. With the bag of seeds in hand, she plants the memories again. Each tear, dripping slowly, slowly, cultivates each painful recollection.