Corinthian Roses

Chapter Eight: Days Are Tumbleweeds

The next few days go by like drifting tumbleweeds. We repair walls, construct items, chop wood, and laugh and eat and enjoy the company of each other. I still think about my brother all the time. I still get sad. But there's a new feeling that often overwhelms the grief. Wilson and I are constant companions. Everyday, there is a 100% chance that I see him. He need not say anything for me to feel better; his very presence calms me.

Wilson made me a bucket to collect manure in so that I could make farm plots. For the next week I worked tirelessly, collecting grass, wood, and fecal matter to make the gardens. I noticed that birds would land and drop seeds frequently, so I began to shoo them away and pick them up.

Today I finally finished my work. I dragged Wilson away from the project he was working on and presented the twenty-four gardens to him.

"You're a miracle, Willamette. This will make life so much easier for us."

"I aim to please."

He looks at the array of seeds in my hands. "How do we tell what the seeds are? Do you know which ones to plant?"

"I'm a botanist, Wilson; it's very easy to identify each one. The seeds of farm crops and of weeds in general look very unlike each other. Strangely, all the seeds I've found are a farm crop of some sort. Not one weed."

"When I still had my little gardens, good crops were all I got. The birds are very generous, I guess."

"It's peculiar."

I set the seeds on the ground and crouch down to identify them. There are many; onion, potato, carrot, pumpkin, watermelon. I plant the seeds in the garden rows based on type. When they grow, it will look beautiful.

My utopia is thus complete in this world. All I need is my greatest friend, Wilson, plants, and more plants. It's been a long road, but I feel refreshed in life. The Constant has such odd ways. Yet, I can take them on. With Wilson.