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The great plains journal of horticultural therapy

The great plains journal of horticultural therapy



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The great plains journal of horticultural therapy

Author: Green Man

By the time I arrived at the house, it was one in the morning. The electricity in the two of them had long since gone out. The glow of a lantern gave enough light for them to pass on, and for me to reach the garage.

Before going up to the room I went and stood at the door. Their love lingered with each in his or her own space. In the hallway, sitting with his head in her lap, was the grey wolf. She was beautiful.

In the same room sat a husky with the funniest mustache I’ve ever seen. Its owner was quietly sobbing. The boy had been entrusted to the husky’s care, and it had taken off with him.

I wanted to feel sorry for the boy and run to him, but I couldn’t. So instead, I turned and headed into the living room. The living room of this house was a bright, open space with a fireplace in the center and around it, a soft pile of couch, chairs and a coffee table.

There was a stuffed lion in a sitting position on the couch, though it didn’t look like it had slept or been sitting there all that long. To my surprise, it looked a little beat up, and there was a thick discoloration around its neck.

The man was still sitting on the floor with his head in his wife’s lap. He was still crying.

I turned away and looked at the walls. There were several prints of oil paintings, but they were too dirty to make out, and I felt too uncomfortable to go and stare at them. They seemed to be a close-knit family.

I felt my heart ache. I knew it had to be painful to see their own son die, but he seemed like such a young man, perhaps someone like myself. He probably still had his whole life ahead of him.

I turned back to them, got a mug from a cupboard on the wall, and went back. I placed the mug in front of the man and handed him a handkerchief. He blew his nose and thanked me.

The woman brought her husband’s head up from his lap and sat him back down. She spoke to him quietly.

I glanced down and saw the husky resting at their feet. It wasn’t moving, so I stood. The man caught my eye, and said, “Thank you. You’re leaving, right?”

“Yes,” I replied. “But please stay here with your children, I wouldn’t want you to go alone,”

The boy was no longer sitting in the chair. The woman rushed to him and sat him down. “Your friend took off on us,” she said.

The boy looked at her and smiled. “Is he really my friend, Mama?” he asked.

“He’s more like our friend. You said you could trust him, so I left you with him, but he’s running off now, and I want you to wait until we can find him,” she said.

“Do you think he’ll come back?” he asked.

“I hope so. We’ll have to go get him,” she said.

“What will we do if he doesn’t come back?” he asked.

“We’ll think of something,” she replied.

“Will we just go on living here?” he asked.

“We’ll think about that later,” she said.

The man held the boy’s hand and got up. He put his arm around his wife’s waist and said, “Thank you, child.”

They both smiled at me. They were clearly a family and seemed happy to be together. I found the scene endearing.

As I stood watching them I noticed the painting above the mantle. It was of a wolf family. There was a father, a mother, a baby, two puppies, and a tall white wolf. It was a family. This family had been through a lot, and they were still together, still smiling and together. They were an image of hope.

I watched as the boy’s mother put his hands into the muzzles of two of the puppies, which were resting in her lap. He was beginning to seem confident in her care. The father stood at the wall with his head turned to the room in the foreground, looking out, and holding his shoulder with his other hand. The man did not seem upset or angry with anything. He had accepted his son s death.

The boy s eyes went back to his mother and he smiled. I watched him as the man put one of his shoes on. The woman ran a hand through the man’s hair, smoothing it back. She seemed so peaceful.

They sat down on the couch again, and when they had their backs against the cushions, I left.

As I passed the first room on the right, I saw that a small stream had left a puddle of muddy water in it. There was a plant growing out of it, an astilbe. I was going to have to


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