It was late evening and I had just
transplanted a tall shrub from a pot into the ground at the side yard of my retreat. Totally sweat-soaked and very exhausted, I sighed with relief. It was
the last plant of more than twenty potted plants which I had been transplanting
since morning that day. It had been tiring, indeed, to dig a hole for every
plant, hammering off the pot the plant was in, trimming its huge bolt of roots
and then replanting it.
Walking to a rattan chair, on the side
of the house, I plopped onto it. I then took a can of sarsaparilla from
under the chair, opened it and gulped down, thirstily, the caramel-coloured
drink.
Having quenched my thirst, I looked,
by the light of a street lamp, at the floral or leafy shrubs I had
transplanted. I felt a sense of satisfaction that I had been able to release
them from being stuck in pots for so many years. What a relief it must be for
the plants, too, to be free at last after more than twenty years embedded in
pots. They could now grow freely in the ground.
ltbs
He that plants trees loves others beside
himself.
Thomas Fuller
