Grandma's Garden Prose

Rain, on this summer night, brings a little coolness to people. In the study, I sat by the window with a glass of water, and all the lights in the room were turned off. Although I am very tired after a day's work, there is a place where I am in a daze and my thoughts drift away.

I always love nostalgia now, perhaps because I am afraid that time will pass too fast and take away what I think is beautiful.

In summer, when I am free, I always think of my grandmother's garden when I was a child, and the dew shining on the flowers and leaves when I get up in the morning. Grandma is an industrious person. She always keeps the vegetable garden in good order. Green cucumber, yellow bitter gourd, purple eggplant, and cowpea covered with vines. In the vegetable garden, my favorite is the big pink, red and charming henna. When I was at my grandmother's house, I ate dinner every day and sat in the yard blowing a cool breeze. Grandma mashed the petals of henna for me, put alum on them, and wrapped each finger with mulberry leaves I just picked. My grandmother said that I can have bright red nails the next day, so I always sleep carefully at night for fear that it will fall off. I opened my eyes the next day and found that the henna wrapped on my finger was gone. But grandma is always patient and dyes my nails every night until my nails are red. Grandma said, how beautiful the girl's suggestion is! My memory has always been grandma's kind smile. At that time, my grandmother and I were sitting on a big stone by the garden, pounding henna and talking about some interesting things. On summer nights, the flowers and vegetables in the garden smell delicious.

However, time has taken away those wonderful memories. When I found that those good days were gone forever, I grew up and my grandmother was old. I haven't seen my grandmother for many years. I went to see her during the Spring Festival. She is thinner, deaf, and can't do anything. She is pushed around by her uncle. I told me that she had to speak loudly to hear, and there were a lot of irrelevant answers. But she still loves me and is busy cooking for me in her hut. When I was leaving, I found that my uncle had built a tall and spacious building in my grandmother's garden, and then I looked at my grandmother's hut, which was dark and shabby. My heart is sour. Something is spinning in my eyes.

Is it time to take away those beautiful things and bring me those strange, unacceptable and helpless things? Grandma's garden can only stay in my memory.