I missed home. I missed my garden. So I planted a new garden, right in the middle of everything in an unused emptiness. I added nutrients to make it fertile and put in scaffolding, a trellis of sorts, to give it structure.
I love my new garden. I grow lightflowers—uninspired, I know. No braided vines of gravity waves or hyperdimensional pinwheels, nothing fancy. Just lightflowers. But they are popular for a reason!
I have gotten good at tending the little yellow ones until they bloom, brilliant red and puffy. The small white ones are pretty and easy to maintain, and they pop against all the tiny brown ones. They all cluster around an enormous black variety that I’ve never seen before—I don’t know how they ended up with the lightflowers, but they’re quite majestic. Oh, I wish you could see them.
Of course, no garden comes without pests. These are microscopic, invisible to the naked eye, but my can they cause a stir when they gather. They are resilient to everything, though when the supernovas blossom it clears them out for a time. Humans, they are called. They have tiny sensors that attract them to infraviolet light. Truth is stranger than fiction.
Please visit soon; I get so lonely. When you do, I can clear this garden out and you can show me how to do it right! Oh, I am so looking forward to it.