Season of Love: A drabble on the them of Blooming Love (gaia transfer)

[Owlsomniac]

[imgright]https://matope.pixel-blueberry.com/imag ... uncert.png[/imgright]
A DRABBLE ON THE THEME OF BLOOMING LOVE!
Kin Name: Rosegrave
Drabble:
She tills the earth with stone and hooves, digging deep furrows to soften the hard packed earth. It smells loamy, and soft - sweet, and good, comfortable like home. Fat worms wriggle to get out of her way now and then, but she leaves them be - they're good for the soil, after all. Their tiny pathways will keep the earth soft, their excrement will fertilize the earth.

The seeds, carefully plucked and dried, kept in the cool and dark until the perfect moment, are lovingly handled with care. She's careful not to spill them as she drops each one into its own new home, and tucks them into the earth. They're sleeping now, but with a little water and sun, they'll soon wake. She does this dozens of more times, until there are no more seeds to plant. Each mound is a promise of something wonderful to come.

Water is a little more tricky. She could wait for the rains, but she wants the best for her garden, so she fashions something to carry it with a large leaf and some vine. It leaks a little, but it's better than nothing at all, and makes her job all the more easier for it. The spring is not far, and the water is cool and sweet. She takes a few moment to drink from it, resting from her morning labors, and then fills the water-bag to the brim. It's only half full by the time she gets back -but is still several mouthfuls more than she could have brought without it.

Water runs in rivulets, and wets the earth, darkening it. She smiles, and does this several more times.

Days pass, and tiny green sprouts begin to push their way up from the earth and into the sun. They are fragile, and precious. Any little thing could upset the balance of their tender new lives. She helps them the very best that she can - plucking weeds and hungry insects away. They don't all make it, but many of them do, and they grow taller every day.

Weeks pass, and they've begun to develop thorns, and wonderfully green leaves. She doesn't have to tend to them so dutifully anymore, but she does anyway. It's soothing, and she wants the best for them.

Eventually, they grow so thick that she can't make her way through the rows as easily anymore. They thrive from her care, and before long, her hard work is rewarded in kind.

The first blooms are luscious and sweet and heavy - almost too big for the young plants. She plucks them here and there, lightening the burden, and more soon grow back in their place.

Small animals nest among the branches and the thorns, and curl up in the velvety softness of the thick petals to sleep. It is a quiet, safe, sanctuary - and she welcomes them, so long as they don't upset her garden. Most are happy for a safe place to live, and she is happy to have them.

Beneath the roots, the dead slumber on for eternity, the remnants of their lives giving nourishment to something new and beautiful, and she tends the precious blooms with love. (529)