19- The gardener of the garden

Deep within the shadows of the garden, there is a gardener, the gardener who tends and cultivates with eternal care. So patient that it was as if time itself had forgotten him, and in return, he had forgotten time.

Every bloom he watches, grow, blossom, and finally die.

Another stage of life, is what death truly is.

The final step, the silent end that comes for all.

How well he understands this cycle. Every fallen petal is a sign of imminent fate.

Every dead root is the remnant of a memory.

Among the plants, he does not harvest; he merely waits, tending to each one with his delicate hands while watching the cycle begin and end.

In the garden of time, he is never in a hurry.

He plants, cares, and withdraws, witnessing stories sung in whispers told by the wind that time carried away.

Death was not cruel; in fact, it could be delicate in a way no one had ever thought before, but he understood the common line of thinking.

He continued his path, humming a long-forgotten melody, never daring to draw attention to himself. Always as simple and modest as he could be, tall and slender, wearing nothing more than a simple linen shirt, light black pants, boots, white gloves, and a straw hat with a thin veil that hid his features.

He walked between flowerbeds, beneath the shade of tall trees, with melancholic and silent steps. If you paid attention, which was unlikely, time seemed to bend around his figure.

A forgettable presence for the inattentive, a memorable figure for the lost.

If one day you, dear reader, were to encounter him and by chance manage to look into his eyes, in the instant the world lost its color, you would feel a vague wave of nostalgia as if you had seen him before, somewhere or in some forgotten moment that would then leave you with a faint sadness, a longing for something undefined. And just as you met him, he would disappear from your sight and from your mind, leaving you with nothing more than a forgettable feeling.

But that's alright, for he was just a gardener.

Nothing more and nothing less.

Sometimes, shooing away the crows that tended to bother him at work, other times planting seedlings, ignoring the crows' voices, and at other moments, sleeping under the shade of a willow tree beside the crows.

It was amusing how those crows liked to irritate him. At least he had a small cat to calm him. He always found it funny how the crows feared her.

Haa, he enjoyed it when the weather was this nice. It was relaxing when he could take some time off from his work, even though being here was irritating because of the crows.

Here was home, and that's all that mattered.

And- oh! It seems the golden apple seed he was cultivating had finally grown. It appears he had stayed away from home longer than expected.

Kneeling down, the gardener inspected the seedling that emerged from the soil. If he hadn't remembered what kind of seed it was, he would have thought it was just a regular apple seed. Not that it would have been a bad thing, but he felt that soon he should start a golden apple orchard.

Humming an old, familiar melody, he continued on his path until he reached a bed of blue roses. They shone so beautifully under the sunlight.

"They grew well, what a relief," he thought. The plants in this large garden seemed to have grown well without him around, which was good because, unfortunately, he didn't have as much time as he would like to properly care for all the areas of the garden, just enough to ensure that nothing was neglected.

"Meow" He heard. It was the little white cat that liked to keep him company every day she could.

He stood still as she rubbed against his legs.

"Where have you been?" he asked, but received only an offended look in response.

"Right, you're right. How are you?" the gardener patiently asked the cat, who meowed happily. She was a sweetheart but could be quite egocentric sometimes, which didn't bother him; he just found it amusing.

Humming again, he began walking once more, but this time, watching from the corner of his eye as the cat came and went, looking for a crow to tease. It was a fun game the birds and the cat played.

Well, fun for him and the cat. In this case, it was mostly for the cat.

Hearing footsteps in the distance, he recognized the essence of the one approaching. How adorable the one coming was.

So, he walked until he reached the clearing by a fountain. He didn't know how long it had been since he last used the clearing, but clearly, it would need some repairs.

It seemed many plants had grown inside the fountain, breaking it, although perhaps he could leave it that way; it was beautiful. Or maybe he could restore the fountain and let the flowers continue growing?

He was pulled out of his thoughts when he felt the presence of a familiar woman behind him.

Turning with a smile, he opened his mouth to greet her, only to close it in the next moment, and instead of something welcoming, a confused exclamation came out.

"Who are you?" he asked. There was something unrecognizable about her, and for a few moments, it remained that way until he could see who she truly was.

"Call me Ryūkoro," she answered softly.

Frowning in confusion, he observed her. A few moments ago, he had the feeling he was speaking with one of the crows... or something like that...

"Right…" he replied.

But there was still something bothering him. Could something be wrong, or was she upset with him? For her to ask to be called by her maiden name...

Perhaps it had been too long since he had last seen her?