Memories of Grandma’s Garden on Sundays

There was nowhere better to be than Grandma’s garden on Sundays.

Her creased, aged hands would grasp the watering can over my little fingers; lifting the weight of the water before letting it drip down onto the earth; feeding the seeds that would grow into an array of warm colors, mighty sunflowers being our favorite. I’d inspect the progress of the flowers each Sunday with patience, love, and care, watching the gradual growth from green shoots to fully grown flowers that reached above my waist.

The more flowers we grew, the more wildlife came to enjoy it with us. Bees would bury themselves into the silk cups, weaving drunkenly between bushes and over fences before returning for more. Butterflies would dance in the air, momentarily landing in various places. We would stand really still with the hope they would land on us, allowing a closer view of their kaleidoscopic wings. Their beautiful, symmetrical patterns looked like paintings without frames, as if the paint could run off their wings and drip down into the green, green grass below.

I could spend hours sitting on a little wooden stool watching spiders weave their webs in such intricate designs, expertly gliding along the silvery threads and changing direction seamlessly. We’d scatter seeds on the ground for the birds and leave out plant pots filled with water in the shade for them to take a refreshing bath out of the summer heat.

The highlight of the day would be Grandma bringing out her homemade jelly and ice cream – a classic favorite for young and old alike. We would bask in the sun, calm and contented, silent in joint appreciation of our surroundings and good company, the only sound spoons hitting the bottom of bowls against the gentle sway of the branches in the afternoon breeze.

Sarah Robin is a new writer from the northwest of England, beginning her journey during the coronavirus pandemic. She enjoys nature and wildlife, frequently exploring the Lake District and the Scottish Highlands. Robin has had several short stories published in anthologies and is a poetry competition winner. She takes her inspiration from the people she meets and places she visits, as well as her own life experiences. Twitter: @SRobinWriter

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