The Bench by Edouard Manet 1832-1883

Short Story

This idyllic garden scene reminds me of my grandmother’s little courtyard before entering what I thought was a mansion.

Placing twine and pruning shears in her checkered apron pockets and me carrying the basket ready to be filled, we followed the fragrances of the garden.  All the herbs of Provence were there, plus gorgeous roses, of which I would secretly snip one and quickly carry off to place in a bud vase on her nightstand.  I continued this tradition by plucking Hibiscuses from my mother’s flower patch.  Now the roses I grow remain uncut as they stretch to the sky for them.

I’m so glad you sat with me on this mystical bench.  Hopefully you come away refreshed and happy.