The Insignificant Thief

 It had become a yearly mission. One that was particularly not looked forward to being accomplished.  A small task.  Nor one that was carved in stone as an absolute requirement. It could be completely ignored. Treated like a second thought.  Here one moment, gone the next.

Perhaps it would be different if the course of action did not take place next to one of the busiest thoroughfares in the county.  There is no privacy or secrecy in fulfilling the job at hand.  Wide open space, with many a piercing eye.

This time, it was nearly too late.  Justly caused by the afore mentioned second thought.  The harvest could still be gathered, but the harvest was likely to be in a most unfavorable condition.

The mission was to retrieve live plants from the graves of past loved ones.  There had been strict instructions, spoken so many years before…..No plastic flowers.  They needed to be rescued from their own untimely demise, beneath rainless blue skies. This year, there were four pots: parents, a cousin taken long before his time and two sets of unknown grandparents.

The first three targets are easy bullseyes.  The fourth is always a  game of hide & seek.

Standing in a sea of stones, looking for the needle in the haystack, makes it impossible to not start reading.  Reading names and dates.  Wondering who they were. What had they done with their time.  Did they live each moment following their hearts’ desires?  Or listen to the silent whispers of defeat?  Pangs of sadness at the passing of a child being replaced with a sense of awe at a long, long life.  

Turning in a circle, scanning and feeling so small and insignificant. Like a grain of sand on an endless beach.

Then it happened.  A name.  So familiar for so many years.  Glistening in the sunlight.  It was much further south than it was the year before.  How had that happened?

Trekking through the stones, offering up the occasional “sorry”, for possibly trodding too close, the fourth target came into view.  The second set of unknown grandparents.  Gifts of late in life children.

With the last dreadful looking petunia in tow, the inside of a sweltering car gave a sense of, not only a mission accomplished, but also a sense of shelter.  Hiding the thievery that was surely seen by many.

The soil around each plant was so dry it had shrunk from the sides of the pot.  Water poured out the bottom as fast as it went in the top.  They were placed in a square cake pan and watered again until the water nearly filled the pan.  Small words of encouragement were given.  All that was left was time.

The next morning, a small miracle had taken place.  Each plant was in full bloom.  Not one drop of water remained in the pan.  They will be enjoyed for the remainder of their season.  The feeling of being insignificant is but a fading memory.