Myra’s favourite place was in her garden. When the noise and neediness of the world got too much, there was nothing she liked better than to don a pair of gardening gloves and potter about.
She kept the small front garden neat and tidy, but it was in the larger back garden that her personality was more apparent. Over the years, Myra had created a handful of spaces which became themed garden rooms. There was a productive vegetable patch in one corner, and a curve of cottage garden linked it to an alcove which had an arched love seat. In spring, the wisteria blooms created a scented shade, and it had been one of her favourite places to sit with Norm.
But Norm had been gone two years now. It hadn’t seemed possible that life could go on without him, but it had persisted. For those first few months after he passed, Myra couldn’t bear being in the garden. Who would lend a hand when it was time to prune the roses, or keep the lawn in the ‘just so’ state that she loved?
Her kids had organised for one of the neighbours to come and mow the lawn, and eventually Myra had been drawn once more into the place where Norm still seemed to be. There were times when she still forgot that he was gone. She’d have a thought about replanting a shrub, or tying back a vine, and she’d give him a hooroo. But there was no reply, and it took a few seconds for her distracted mind to realise that Norm wouldn’t appear with that ragged straw hat on his head and a smile on his face.
There was an old garden gnome near the tool shed that Norm had called his retreat. Myra wasn’t sure why, but one day, as she was weeding the vegetable patch, she started to talk to the gnome. It was comforting somehow, though she did cast a look or two around the yard to make sure that nosy neighbours weren’t within earshot. She talked about what was in season, and what seeds she was going to plant this year. And as she talked about the glut of zucchinis and beans, the gnome looked on with an enigmatic expression on his concrete face.
Later, when she was back in the house, Myra would wonder at what she was thinking, talking to an inanimate object. But what harm was there in talking to yourself? And so, as the seasons changed, and the warm days of summer faded into the cool, short days of autumn, she chatted to the gnome. Myra found herself telling the gnome all about Norm. ‘You would have liked him. And he would have liked you. Norm got on with everyone.’
She looked at the gnome, and was sure that he gave her a brief nod and a twinkling smile. Myra smiled back, her heart lighter than it had been in a while.
This piece was written to a prompt on the Writer’s Digest website. Modern Renaissance: a garden statue comes to life.
Photo: a garden gnome spotted in the neighbourhood
jml297 
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