The gardener lets out a gasp. Some creature has severed the fruit from the vine. All the preparing and planting and protecting; in a moment, loss.
Last night, 13 died in a double suicide car bombing near the airport in Mogadishu. And what of the boy who went to the lake with his buddies never to come home. Or the girl, taken from her front yard...
So many seeds have been tended in this wide world. The Gardner, a man of sorrows, acquainted with grief, cries out.
Some may say, "It's only a watermelon", and I might have agreed, but for the kneeling it took to examine it.
hidden path -
sounds of cicadas