I’ve never had a green thumb and yet I find myself in the role of a grower, a caretaker, clearing out the weeds and nurturing the blooms that were once implanted within my womb.
Everyone admires gardens. The heavenly mishmash of scents, stirring up ancient evenings and simpler times. The rainbow of colors draped across the lawn, breathtaking in their radiance. The pretty petals peeking out from between the leaves, desperately seeking the sun.
Yet what of my garden? My beautiful yet fragile petals. Who will admire them at their peak? Or when they fade back into themselves, falling dormant until the next season? Will others still see them as beautiful, perfectly ripe for picking? Will I?
What color, I wonder, is a mother’s thumb?
*Image by THỌ VƯƠNG HỒNG from Pixabay.