It was a chance of fate that had brought her into my life and it was cruel fate that had taken her away again. It had been eight long months since Old Man Winter and his heavies had snuffed her light and I had missed her every day since.
I shoulda’ know better than to fall in love with a dame like that. She was nothing but a drifter and no good ever comes from those types. Pretty faces are a dime a dozen in this garden and if you don’t make nice to Old Man Winter when he sets his eyes on you, than no pretty face in the world will keep you from facing the cold hard consequences.
Ours had been a short affair, but it was certainly one to treasure. Tall and slim, with curves all over the place. God just doesn’t build creatures like that too often.
Then one day, she went all cold on me. Wasn’t too long after, that this garden did what this garden always does to the pretty ones.
So eight long months and I am still holding a flame for her. Go ahead, call me a fool. Tell me that dead dames are not something I need to be romanticizing over. But even we tough gardeners sometimes have a soft spot.
But that’s not what has got me talkin’ about her today. You see, I was walking past the corner where she use to live and I see this little sprout. You know the kind, not much past the gangly age but still not quite filled out. And I swear that this little thing is the spitting image of her.
Then I see another one and another one. Wouldn’t you know it but the broad had gone and gotten herself knocked up and these were her tots. She must have thought that I’d have turn tail and run if she told me and that’s why she gave me the cold shoulder.
I stopped by her resting place and told her that her little girls are growing up fine. At least as fine as can be in this garden. Who knows, maybe these gals will figure out a way of making it without having to give in to Old Man Winter.