In late August, I put on my old work boots that I wore so often when I .
walked down to my favorite place once more. The air was sharp and bliss as I breathe in .
the smell of the arrival of the fall season. There was a sense of sadness and emptiness I .
felt inside when I seen the leaves on trees turning orange and red colors. I started.
to reminisce about the beauty and the wealth that this place had once possessed. .
Although, it seemed like yesterday when I first pick up that rake; I still felt my blood .
rushing to my veins when I thought about preparing the soil. The ground that was .
undisturbed woke up after a long rested sleep was ready to start a new life. My body .
ached and sweat poured off my forehead as I leveled the soil to form beds for planting. I .
kneed down and dug my hands into the moist wet soil and planted the seeds. Rows and.
rows of kennebec potatoes, wax beans, carrots, green beans, corn and fresh grown .
vegetables for our salads had once exist there. In the rock gardens, there were mixtures of .
different colors; orange, yellow, blue, pink, white annuals and perennials giving off many .
different fragrances. The hummingbirds would come visit the gladiolas and the bees .
would sway from flower to flower dipping their stinker in the flower. In the background I .
can hear the laughter of my granddaughter when she comes over to see me at my .
favorite place. Now there is nothing left except my memories and dried up old stems from .
the vegetables that were harvest. .
