What do you mean they don't plant themselves? They are called "PLANTS!"
A Rose Garden in Need is a Friend Indeed
Setting: An ethereal, boundless garden where patches of immaculate rose bushes stand next to plots of bare, tilled earth. The scent of loam and blossoms hangs in the timeless air. SOPHIA, the embodiment of wisdom, walks alongside GEORGE, a woman with thoughtful, observant eyes.
Sophia: This garden is a wonder, George. The fragrance from these blossoms is a reward in itself. And yet, I see so much empty earth, so much potential yet to be realized.
George: That is the nature of things, is it not? A garden is never truly finished. We may delight in the flowers that are, but our thoughts are so often drawn to the flowers that could be.
Sophia: Many who walk here simply admire the blooms. They express a desire for the entire expanse to be filled with color, yet they seem content to simply wait.
George: (A faint, knowing smile touches her lips as she kneels, crumbling a bit of dark soil between her fingers.) Ah, yes. The great hope for a spontaneous miracle. They wish the heavens would open and shower down petals, that beauty would simply arrive, fully formed and without cost.
Sophia: But you do not believe it works that way.
It will never rain roses: when we want to have more roses, we must plant more roses.
— George Eliot (1818-1890)
George: How could it? A wish has never tilled soil. A hope has never carried water. If one finds their life lacking in beauty, in the warmth and fragrance of a rose, they cannot simply stand in an empty field and expect it to manifest. The power, and the responsibility, lies in their own hands. If you want more of a lovely thing, you must be the one to cultivate it.
Sophia: So the garden itself is a call to action. Its neediness—this empty soil, the threat of weeds—is an invitation.
George: Precisely. And that is where the deeper truth lies. People see the work—the digging, the planting, the pruning of thorns—as a burden to be endured for the sake of the eventual bloom.
Sophia: But you see it differently.
George: I do. The relationship is not one-sided. We give our effort to the garden, and it gives something back long before the first petal unfurls. In caring for its needs, we find a purpose. In turning the soil, we turn over our own thoughts. This patch of earth, which asks for my attention and my labour, becomes a steadfast companion in my life.
Sophia: So the garden’s need is not a failing, but a gift.
George: It is the greatest gift. A perfect, self-sustaining garden would be a thing to admire from a distance, but it would not be a friend. A friend is something you engage with, something you nurture and worry over. The plot of ground that requires your care is the very thing that grounds you. Its need for you is what makes it, in the end, your truest support.
Sophia: (Smiling warmly as she looks from the blooming roses to the empty earth.) I see. So a garden in need…
George: (Stands and brushes the soil from her hands, looking at Sophia with a clear, steady gaze.) …is a friend indeed. For in the shared effort of creation, we find the very beauty we seek to plant.
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