Missed Day 6?
Today’s prompt: “You walk into a hidden garden full of colorful flowers. What makes this place special to you?”
Today’s music: Mesmerized by Pi Teddy. 🎧 Listen on SoundCloud.
A Secret Garden
I felt wistful that I’d passed the journal on. The next morning I knew two things: first, it was the right thing to do, and second, I could cure my ennui with a walk.
Today it was slightly overcast, proving that Hearthlight wasn’t a magic kingdom right to the core. Or, perhaps, today’s magic favoured the plants that needed water, as it smelled like it might rain later. Rain wouldn’t be too bad. I’d been rained on before; the worst part was getting wet, and after that you could have a hot shower, dry off, and enjoy hot chocolate. This last addition came from my stomach, ever attentive to the situation.
I stopped by Trudy’s, grabbing a small wax-sealed jar of hot chocolate just in case, and then headed out for my stroll. The jar was earthenware, handmade by the looks of it, without adornment or any packaging besides HOT CHOCOLATE having been pressed into the clay before firing. It was a small jar, easy to hold in one hand, and I’d chosen it over the other sizes because my stomach didn’t need further encouragement or enlargement.
I set off along a different route this morning, weaving through the sleepy houses and quiet streets. I must have gotten lost again, finding myself in a laneway that smelled fresh, with a hint of morning dew on a few stubborn sproutings of plants pushing their way through the cracks in the fence walling the path. I ambled down, wary of crossing into someone’s private yard, but the path opened into a small garden. There was a miniature rack set by the archway leading inside, complete with spare pots of seedlings, a few pairs of gloves in different sizes, and hand rakes and trowels. Beyond that, a swing bench hung under the boughs of a tree. The invitation was clear: come in, plant something, then sit and think.
The seedlings presented something of a problem. I was not a constant gardener, or even an occasional one. I knew how to dig a hole and unbind roots, but that was about the extent of my leet gardening skills. I selected a plant at random. It had bright golden flowers and reminded me more of a weed than a plant, its stems long and its petals modest. Not all of us have to be a showpiece, and even a modest plant deserves a place to thrive. I hunted about the garden, eventually finding a small patch of ground that wasn’t too crowded by other plants.
I dug a small hole and put my chosen plant inside. When I looked at it, it saw it had the air of a daffodil about it, but without the majesty. I put it into the ground, tamping the earth gently to settle it in place, then rested on my heels. The garden was, like all of Hearthlight, serene. There was nothing of the outside world here. No people taking pics for the Gram. No influencers showing nature’s beauty to those stuck inside. Just a small garden, out of the way, hidden for those who had the random luck to find it and help it grow.
My eye was drawn to a small bird sitting in the tree above the swing bench. It looked like a baby hawk but with feathers like a melted rainbow. I knew what it was: a joyjay. The only problem was that its natural habitat wasn’t gardens. They were known to enjoy forest clearings after rain, children’s dreams, and sometimes they lived in old murals nobody remembered painting. They were imaginary, something I’d djinn’d up for a Dungeons & Dragons session with friends. The joyjay was a harbinger of prophecy, only telling the exceptional parts of the story and letting you know the ending would be good, no matter how hard it was to get there.
Which meant, clearly, I had taken LSD with my pancakes this morning.
I blinked, and the joyjay was gone. I stood, feeling sheepish, and wandered to the bench. As I sat, a flash of colour caught my eye. Like the journal, it was a small thing, passed from one to another, asking for nothing but a little belief.
On the seat beside me lay a single rainbow-coloured feather.
Roll result? A modest flower planted, a memory-born bird glimpsed, and one impossibly real feather left behind.
XP gained: 1 whisper of hope, 1 seed of something yet to bloom.
Ready for Day 8?
☕ Found a little warmth in today’s story? You can buy me a cup of Hearthlight’s finest hot chocolate over on Ko-fi. It helps keep the ink flowing, the audio narrating, and the joyjays well-fed.
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