Garden Variety

Fears will always present themselves and unlike gardens, there's nothing I can lay down underneath the nutritious dirt, no newspaper, mesh, nothing that will keep a weed like fear from growing. And so what if weeds start to grow? Is there nothing more satisfying than pulling them up myself, personally uprooting the little buggers with my own hands: you see, I own my fears, not the other way around.

Although, you know, I'm not even sure I know what I'm growing. I really ought to label all the rows.

Hopefully, I've planted a garden variety of dreams.

Hopefully, I'll have planted ripe, juicy  red tomato-y dreams, alongside practical, sturdy brown potato; only to be complemented by the deep, warm purple eggplant. I could hardly do without the smooth, cool green cucumber, and I find it hard to believe that anyone wouldn't want to plant tart, distinct white onions, or the nutty, sweet orange carrot. Will I have the fun blueberries, strawberries; the exotic mangoes and grapes?

Hopefully, my garden will have basil, cilantro, mint and rosemary, thyme, dill, chives and coriander--I don't even know how to use these herbs--for what's life without flavor? (Can I grow spices?) I think I've also planted tulips, roses, maybe I've built a pond with water lilies floating at the water's edge, and koi swimming underneath--what's life without fragrance? 

Hopefully, I'll have built stone paths, and small ledges with a seat or two interrupting the pattern. Maybe I've a gazebo where I've mosaic'd the wood, hoping visitors would reach out to touch and find its hidden surprises--a diamond or two in the rough.

Well, now, I can't feel half as afraid now, can I?

And even if I did plant an entire field of corn in the hopes of planting different fruits and vegetables, what's to stop a lioness from hunting in it? 

"Secondhand Lions"