by Michele Connell

Created on: March 20, 2010

 If gardenia bushes could talk, the stories they would tell from the days Marlee Latton sat beneath the crooked awning, spread sparingly with rotten, two-by-fours. Soft, cool dirt molded to skinny, bare legs - poking through denim cut-off’s- as she sat cross legged in the small alcove between the bushes and the porch.  It offered very little protection from the elements of nature, but the four foot bushes were jammed together like cordwood and made for good hiding when the forces of adulthood went on rampage.

The gardenia bushes – ten warriors in a neat row - were an oddity; their regal appearance out of balance with the rickety, broken down house they guarded.  Maybe it was why Marlee had grown to love them – even before she knew about the safe haven behind the waxy green veil of leaves. Their steadiness to withstand every storm, their faithfulness to continue growing even when no one ever groomed or cared for them. Yet, like clockwork the soft white blooms sprouted year after year sending forth an aroma.

These were the times she loved best – engulfed in gardenia’s poignant scent.  For reasons she couldn’t explain the smell gave a feeling of…….hope, of being wrapped within the blooms of a life where things weren’t quite so hard.

“I love the rain,” she whispered as she gingerly plucked a brown leaf from the nearest bush before tucking a wayward strand of dark hair behind her ear.  She examined the shriveled leaf with a sigh. Fall was moving in rapidly and soon winter would be knocking down the door. It would be too cold then to sit with the bushes. She was careful to keep her voice low and ears perked for anyone walking nearby.

 “The way it smells when it’s just about to pour from the heavens…..fresh angel tears all sweet and delicate. Yesterday, I learned about a man called, Jesus.” Marlee grabbed a fresh scoop of dirt and packed it in the open places around the roots. It looked like the neighbor’s scruffy little dog had been clawing around her bushes again looking for a place to bury his latest treasure. Bones, keys, and even stray shoes had found a wayward home beneath the bushes.

“I’ve heard of Jesus before,” she went on, “but Lacy – a girl on my bus that goes to church– told me all sorts of stories about things He’s done. She called them…..Miracles. ” Marlee straightened

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