Antithesis of a Gardener
Prompt words in red.
Overgrown and uncut, the lawn was patchy, lumpy and buckled in places. I wondered when that happened, it wasn’t like that when I moved in.
Inherit a virtual Garden of Eden, take possession of the keys, and within months my brown thumb is obvious to all. I can faintly hear the worms and ants whispering together in their tiny underground tunnels, in their tiny underground voices, “It’s so dry down here, hasn’t she ever heard of sprinklers?”
In my defense, although why I feel the need to defend my inaction to things that live in dirt, I held off watering thinking the rain would be enough. So I was wrong. Sue me, worms! Maybe the yard will become a mini dust bowl, wind blowing topsoil dust devils down the street. Even the birds have abandoned me. The empty feeders may have something to do with that.
I think I was born to be an apartment dweller.
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