Gladis's Garden/El Jardín de Gladis (Esp-Eng)

Hello, my friends. What a pleasure to greet you once again. Today, I return to this community to share a new post with all the plant lovers out there.

Gladis is one of my many neighbors, the mother of a good friend of mine. Like many grandmothers, Gladis also has a garden. A garden that was nearly lost after a tragic event. I visit her from time to time. Sometimes she calls me to come pick some guavas from her tree. Other times, I go to ask her for advice because, despite being over 60 and retired, she still works as an accountant at a company.

Gladis has always been the guardian of her little paradise garden, as she likes to call it—a place she created by making use of every available corner and nook. It’s not just a place for plants; it’s also a reflection of her soul, a multicolored tapestry painted with delicacy and love. Every morning, together with her husband, they began their morning ritual of tending to the plants. Both loved the touch of the leaves, the smell of dew, and the fragrance of the flowers.

Year after year, Gladis patiently waits for the orchids hanging on the fence to bloom. She knows the language of her plants; she knows when they’re thirsty, when they long for more sun, or when a pest threatens them. Her hands, weathered by time, can bring back to life what seemed dead.

From her metal chair, Gladis often enjoys watching the bees and butterflies visit her creation. Among her flowers, she finds refuge. It’s the place where she converses with the memories of her husband and finds deep peace. Gladis doesn’t just grow flowers; she cultivates beauty and serenity, showing that the purest love is sometimes expressed in the silent care of the simplest and truest things.

She says that after she became a widow, the flowers grew sad, wilted, and half-faded. Her late husband, along with her, used to take care of them. It was as if the flowers knew he was gone, that he would no longer be there to water them.

For a while, Gladis didn’t feel like doing anything, and the poor flowers were nearing their end, watered only by scarce rain and kept alive "by some miracle." But one day, Gladis "woke up" from her lethargy and understood that caring for them and keeping them beautiful was also a way to keep her beloved husband present, to be by his side.

From that moment on, Gladis's garden began to bloom again with joy. Now, the light rains, periwinkles, orchids, and cacti look happy and smiling. Each of these little plants came to Gladis through friends and neighbors who gifted them to her many years ago.

As is common, Gladis also uses pots, old buckets, cans, and any container she can find to plant her flowers. Her own husband made sure to provide them for her. How could she let something they built together die? For her, there is no more effective therapy than sinking her fingers into the damp soil, feeling the texture of the leaves, and witnessing the miracle of a new sprout.

That’s why every morning, Gladis gets up and waters her plants. She says that sometimes, she feels a soft whisper of wind in her ear that tells her: "I love you."