The Backyard Anonymous

I remember when the flowers stopped blooming.

All throughout my childhood there was always one thing that would instantly make me happy. I had a beautiful backyard in my childhood home. The smell of the ripe red mango trees and the chirping of the blue birds always roused my senses. I lived for the freshly cut green grass and the lovely white orchids hanging by the patio. What really made my backyard stand out was the majestic fountain carefully crafted in the center. My favorite memories are when I would bathe in the large limestone fountain and my parents would be watching me from a distance. Those are the days that are so vivid in my memory.

Routinely, my father always made sure the fountain would continually spout water from its elegant pores, and my mother would always plant exquisite flowers of deep fuchsia and subtle orange. I would contentedly watch them work in the background on the long summer days as the horizon of my wooden fence began to swallow the sun in its entirety. I was surrounded by bliss as the fragrance of the sweet peas lingered in the new light, and the sky was a picturesque shade of purple. One day, however, the beauty began to collapse. The decay of my backyard mirrored the decay of my own parents’...