Unfinished Business


As he toured the small-holding he glimpsed the green plastic of a watering can, barely visible through a tangle of weeds. He put on gloves and pulled away nettles and long grass. The spout was broken and it was half buried by soil, shifted into position by a tribe of ants which scurried furiously to protect their eggs. Beside it lay a pile of stones and rocks, and three empty plant pots.

He stood back to examine the scene. What hopes had ended here, in this forgotten corner of the orchard? Had a life been cut short? Had an emergency called the gardener away, or a love affair? Or had they simply lost interest, half way through?

Should he pick up where his forerunner had left off, or leave the scene untouched, as a monument to lost dreams?

He’d decide tomorrow, he told himself, or the next day. Or the next.

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