By Alli Wade I have come to find that life is comparable to a garden. The farmer who sits by idly, leaving his crop to its own avail sees his harvest perish. Weeds smother the crops and suck the nutrients from the soil, leaving a desolate plot of land. Insects and creatures sneak in the dark of night to sabotage the fruit. What once promised a future of beauty and sustenance is instead left with nothing but barrenness. At times, the swiftness of the destruction leaves the gardener in amazed disbelief and sorrow for what could have been. As he looks across the vast expanse of nothingness, he mourns his loss knowing that the mistake is one with no rectification. The error leaving him hungry—wanting—that which is no more. On the other hand, the farmer with a well-tended crop sees it bloom plentifully. He carefully tills each weed from his yield, taking great care not to disrupt its progress. He creates barriers to keep out the varmints and sprinkles the leaves to exterminate ...
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