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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Inspirational
- Subject: Nature & Wildlife
- Published: 11/22/2021
The Girl with the Watering Can.
Born 1951, M, from Wilmington NC, United States.jpeg)
Author's Note: This is my story for JD's Painting Challenge. And boy oh boy, did I have a lot of fun revisiting some of my favorite paintings. I decided on this one.
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“You sure are helping all those plants grow.”
The little girl with an older woman’s grace and intelligence smiled up at me.
“Yes. Aren’t they pretty?”
“They are.” I agreed.
“I would like to chat with you, you seem like a nice old man (I smiled, Thirty Five is not old). But I have to keep moving, there are so many plants.”
“Could I help?”
Her face lit up. I knew right then I would have to paint her some day. She was filled with joy over my offer to help.
Somehow she reached down with her left hand and brought up another watering can. I didn’t think much of it …at the time. Perhaps she had always had two of them, and one was just sitting near her foot and I didn’t notice. At least, that is what I convinced myself of at the time. It was filled with water. I took a sniff.
“Oh, my gosh. I never smelled water that smelled like this!”
I took another sniff. A deeper one. It made me feel stronger, lighter, more loving and caring. I took another sniff. It smelled of Earth, of good soil, of all the flowers on Earth in bloom at one time. It smelled like the fresh skin of a newborn baby, it smelled of kitten fur, puppy licks, and hugs from your Mother. All things good and pure were in that lovely scent.
The little girl reached up with her hand, pulling my watering can away from my nose and mouth.
She giggled.
“Silly, you can’t help the plants if you take all the joy out of the water.”
“What?”
I was befuddled.
She pointed to my watering can:
“That is the water of Life. It makes things grow. It makes things thrive. It makes things turn out just like they are supposed to be. That’s life.“
“You mean to tell me that this isn’t ordinary water?”
She actually huffed at me.
“Ordinary Water? There is no such thing!”
She took my watering can and set it down by her foot. Then she set her own watering can down next to it. Then she put both her hands on her hips and looked straight up at me. I told you she had an older woman’s eyes and intelligence, and right then I felt like the five year old…and she was the adult. I got ready for a “talking to” …and I got one.
“Your body is mostly water." She pointed to a big tree near us: “That giant tree is made out of thin air, with nothing but water, Oxygen, and dirt.”
She didn’t stop and I didn’t dare not listen.
“Everything you eat needs water. Everyone you ever met, loved, despised, or considered a colleague, needed water every day…just to stay alive. Every flower you ever touched, or sent to a loved one, every salad you ever ate, every dish you made for supper…animal, or vegetable…needed water to complete the cycle of life. When you die…and I hope that is a long way off…your water will go back to the Earth. Ordinary water! Hmph.“
I couldn’t help it. I waved my arms in surrender. I laughed a good natured laugh, which she joined in on.
“Thank you. I will never consider water ordinary again. Ever.”
The little girl had taken back over from the enormously intelligent older woman who hid behind that small frame and sharp eyes.
“Oh goody, grab your watering can, and let’s get to work.”
I never really noticed that even though my watering can was built like hers, to fit a small child’s hands, and not my big clumsy grown man hands, that it never seemed to need refilling. That seemed to escape my notice …at least consciously. Just like the fact that every plant SHE watered, bloomed, blossomed, or bore fruit. The plants I watered just seemed to grow…well…more alive.
Finally we reached the end of the Garden. She took my watering can from me, thanked me and turned to go. She took only a few steps. Then she turned back to face me. In her little girl’s voice I heard a decision being made.
“What do you do? Are you a Teacher?”
“No, I am a painter.”
“What do you paint? People? Portraits? Buildings?”
I smiled as I shook my head no.
“No, No little lady. I paint Nature. I love flowers, ponds with water Lillies, fields of Poppies. I put people in them only to show that Nature brings peace.”
She shook her head in a motion I can only describe as “complete agreement.” She reached up to me, holding her watering can like a chalice.
“Here. Take a sip. A small sip. You don’t want too much Life, it will be overwhelming for you. Just one sip.”
I humored her.
I raised that luscious smelling water, the scent of everything good and growing, from fresh hay, to a new day after a gentle rain in it, and took a sip.
I fainted.
I felt a small hand take the watering can from my grip. I still couldn’t move, but I felt glorious, alive in a way I had never felt before. I felt a small hand touch my forehead, and then a wisp of hair brush my cheek as the softest of butterfly kisses landed on my forehead.
“Paint well, my friend, Paint well.”
I did.
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