Secret Garden

Today I ventured to the Highland Theater to catch a three dollar movie with I. I found myself surrounded by both the poverty and quirkiness that I am sometimes starved for living on a college campus. As we hurried up a street with unkempt lawns and peeling paint, something magical caught my eye. Sandwiched between two large and decrepit brick buildings, a small garden teaming with life waved proudly at me. Her vines and plants hung heavy with some of the most enticing vegetables I've ever seen, and I fought the urge to dash in and pull a Peter Rabbit. I resisted because this was not my bounty to enjoy. Instead, I looked on at the families bent over on a hot afternoon to maintain this precious parcel, and I smiled to myself while silently thanking them. I thanked them for reminding me that people can still come together to create some good in this world. That beauty thrives in shadows and hides in plain sight. That sometimes the good guy wins. And I imagined, with the slightest twinge of jealousy, the bliss that will come to these families when they finally get to sink their teeth into one of those mouthwatering tomatoes.