In the Garden

The light overhead had begun to grow bright, and the tallest of the flowers opened its petals to the light, spreading its leaves so that it would get the benefit of the warmth after the cool of the darkness. The smaller plants all around it continued with what they had been doing when the light had faded into darkness, the way they always did.

The ground was moist from the water falling from the sky as it usually did when the light was like this, but one of the plants noticed something strange; the water that had fallen was somehow... less than it had been when the light had faded. And though the idea was strange and new, it began to circulate through the awareness of the rest of the plants in that area that something had changed, though they weren't sure what it was, or how it had happened.

The low spots were still flooded, as they always were after the water had fallen from the sky, some reasoned, so why should we care why it is different? But as the light moved across the sky, some began to wonder if the changes that had been noticed weren't the heralds of some greater change that was still to come. However, with the movement of the light, the idea was lost among the press of gaining nutrition from the roots that were buried in the soil and the light on leaves and all the business of living that had to be done between the fallings of the water.

And soon, the light was fading once more.

The smallest plant-- the one who had first noticed the change-- paid attention to the way the water fell from the sky this fading, and decided that it was no different from the way it had always been, and decided not to worry about it, unless it was different when the light brightened again. But it wasn't.

And this continued this way for several brightenings and fadings of the light, so that the young plants concerns were quieted. But, as time passed, the temperature in that place began to grow warmer when the light brightened, and didn't cool as much as it had before when the light faded away again. And one brightening, the plants noticed a drastic change; the water didn't fall!

It had always fallen when the light began to brighten overhead, the younger plants communicated to their elders, frightened as their leaves shook in the almost scalding breeze that had sprung up with the brightening of the light. But there was no explanation their elders could give them; they were thirsty too. So, the elders counseled that they dig their roots deeper into the ground and find water that way.

But then an ancient thought made itself heard amongst the clamor of competing communications; the water comes from a source different from the rains, and the source has failed to flow for now. It will return, the ancient was quick to assure the stunned plants who were struggling to understand the communication. How could the source of the waters fail? one of the youngest asked, feeling greatly daring for having addressed the ancient directly.

It had happened before, the ancient continued, and it would happen again, though not often. If it hadn't resumed by the fading of the light, then would be soon enough to worry, the ancient added.

And with the fading of the light, the ancient's counsel was borne out; the water fell from the skies as it always had, though there seemed to be much more of it than there had been for many brightenings and fadings of the light. And the plants wondered what it might mean. But the light faded the same as it always had, and a few fadings later, the water fell in great quantity again.

With the brightening came a new change: some of the plants were being pulled out of the ground that had nurtured them and left to lay, drying out and dying in the light that had given them life. While others were discovering that parts of them-- the young that had been developing, specifically-- had been removed, though the plants themselves were still alive. And this caused much consternation in the plants; so much so that once again, they sought the counsel of the ancient who had led them so wisely in the last crisis.

Where have our young gone, oh wise ancient? they asked, knowing that if any knew the answer to their quandry, the ancient would be the one who would know. But the answer that came back was a shock to the plants; they have been taken by our older brother to help feed his family, at his request.

Older brother?! some of the older plants in that place chorused, shocked. We know nothing of an older brother, others added firmly, though they secretly hoped that the ancient would explain what he has meant by what had been thought into the awareness of the plants that brightening.

Yes. We all have an older brother, and he relies on us to feed him, for he is the most helpless of creatures; he has no roots to draw water into his body, no petals or leaves to draw in the light to nourish him, and there is no way for him to enjoy the coming of the light, for he cannot handle deep cold or great heat.

You mean... he is like the creatures who share the land with us? the plants asked, confused, though they knew that they shared their bodies with the animals and the insects because they all shared the power of the light and the water.

Yes, the ancient replied. He is like them, but unlike them, he has no feathers or fur to keep him warm, nor claws to defend himself with, and he is completely reliant on us for everything, from his clothing to his homes to the food he eats, and in many ways, even for the water he drinks.

So what happened to the plants that died on the ground? the other plants asked, confused. Why didn't he take them with him when he came? And would he come again?

That is a more complicated matter, and all I can do is explain what I think the answer is. If it isn't enough, then you will have to seek another, for it is the only one I have; that he didn't want them for whatever reason, the ancient said, his thought heavy with sadness at the thought of the deaths that had touched the plants of this place.

But, the ancient continued, to answer your other question, yes. It is he who has been tending this place, making sure the water fell from the sky each brightening and fading, and doing other things in this place.

What??! chorused the younger plants, still mightily confused by what the ancient had explained. And the ancient spend until the fading of the light explaining everything that had been told to him about their older brother, and how much help he would need for all time. Finally, the younger plants seemed to understand, at least a little, and the ancient fell silent.

But, as the light faded and the water fell from the sky once more, pooling in the low places as it always had, the plants were all paying closer attention to what was happening around them. And soon, the youngest of them was able to get a dim sense of what the ancient had been trying so patiently to explain; the one who had come into the area was a strange creature unlike any that had been in the land before, but they felt familiar at the same time, especially when they did something that made the water fall from the sky, and move at a gesture from the ungainly looking thing the creature guided.

Then something extraordinary happened; they could all hear the strange creature making a sound. At first, it was like the wind through the leaves of the tallest plant in the area, then it changed to something that resembled the songs of the birds that shared the lands with them. And the plants knew that they had found a kindred spirit, even though the shape was very different from the graceful shape of any plant in that area.

The sound ended, and the plants wondered if it had been meant to encourage them to grow, though they knew too that they would have grown anyway. Then the creature touched the leaves of the plant it was nearest to, and the plant knew that it hadn't been hurt by the touch, and the plant knew too that conveyed in that touch had been a plea for help from the creature.

Of course, I will help you, the plant thought, and the creature nodded, with such a look of gratitude that the plant knew that the creature was indeed a member of the family of life.

..........

"Thank you." the creature murmured softly in the awareness of the plants, and went to turn off the water, knowing that the plants would be okay for the night even if something came and ate some of the vegetables or the fruit that was growing on the trees in the orchard outside the fence.