The Labyrinth and the Gardener
A pondering of multiple raindrops from a detrimental storm onto the empty fields, crashing into them as hard and loud as clashing metals. The depth and existence of love weighs over any deprivation an unexpected soul contains and holds close to themselves and out of reach of others greedy and tainted hands. Unfathomable pain and relenting for those who do not know what it is to love or how deep it means to say those words; and an unshakable and inescapable tormented feeling of being trapped in a beautiful and finely trimmed labyrinth with dead ends at every turn and no way out for the one who knows. To venture in this magnificent piece of art out of awe and curiosity, without an overlook and knowledge of who created such a piece, can be dangerous for the one who enters. For whoever ventured before him must’ve had a way of getting out the other side, alive, well, unscathed, unbroken.
With a well beating heart and unbroken determination, to venture inside with hopes full and a sense of nothing but good things to come, only to be deceived by the outside amazement received. The blooming pistons of the flowers and innocence of the outside and first few hedges inward can only turn dark, wilted, and damaged the further it goes. Every path a wrong turn and every scene of greenery gone gray and ugly. It is not the gardens fault for it’s hideous look on the inside, for it’s time since being made, it has not had the time to be watered and nurtured as it should.
The changing expectations of the first mishandling gardener left walls closed that were supposed to be open and moved onwards to make an addition of room for new excentric wonders throughout with unexpected twists with unfinished and unattended paths . The second mishandler was reckless and carefree, determination of escape from reality was the only thing left. Introducing usage and molestation of the blooming flowers of this newly built and magnificent garden, bringing sharp branches, wilting flowers, and walls around the beauty left of where he traveled. The next few mishandlers ventured further, leaving the labyrinth with more walls, sharp branches as it struggled to replace the ripped out green leaves and stomped on flowers the garden had been so desperate to grow for its corrupted discoverers.
This new adventurer, the one admired by the beauty of it’s outside was not discouraged by the ugliness inside. Of it’s twisted and sharp branches or wilted and broken flowers. ‘WATER’ he said, and it appeared. It sunk into the roots of the mistreated, malnourished labyrinth and quenched a thirst it did not know it had. It needed some, but wanted more. This venturer spent his time going through the maze, examining it’s disheveled walls and taking time to understand with each wall, what it needed. Whether it be a trim, water, nutrients, or just more time, he spent all of his minutes to hours trying to build it back up again. Even though it enjoyed the new flowers, and the new green leaves starting to grow, it retaliated and resented. So much time and effort the garden had spent to protect itself from being ripped apart was going to waste, it wasn’t working. No matter how much he was pricked and prodded, cut and hurt, he stayed and took care of what he felt was now his and his responsibility to help get back its once magnificent beauty inside as it was out.
But one can only take being bruised and bloody all day long, everyday that went stuck in it’s maze. The garden knew this, could feel it. The defensiveness it latched out onto it’s caretaker was unnecessary and ruining the poor man who gave effortless time to tend to it’s care without it ever giving back. No fruits it did bare and no beauty was showing through the more he stayed. It began to all look the same and the authentication of it now had worn away being so accustomed to it now. He wondered why he thought he could fix it, such a big mess and yet he still went on. The garden was becoming weary, trying to pop out more flowers faster in order to show appreciation and bring back the hopefulness, it was all the same now. It was too late. The new handler, who was caring, protective, and earnest; he who was more deserving, began to walk toward the entrance. Needing a break, being to tired to do anymore with no result and no help, the man now left. The garden realized, it wanted and needed more, but it wasn’t enough for the man anymore. It couldn’t give back the same way the man gave to it. It couldn’t shave off the sharp twigs and branches that lurked everywhere; it was scared to open it’s walls and it only hurt worse this time than any before. Compared to the love she had experienced before, nothing was like this, nothing was this good or felt like love compared to this. But broken, tired, defeated, and scathed, the man walked on with the garden behind him knowing she should’ve done more. An unshakable and inescapable feeling of failure for the man, and an unrelenting, unfathomable pain for the garden who felt like she couldn’t risk to take down the sharp branches of walls for this remarkable man.
The rain inside the gardens walls began to pound it’s branches again.
Copyright © Bailey Littrell | Year Posted 2025
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