Sweat dripped down Aynslee Smith’s back. It started as a small drop and gradually slid down her back, leaving a trail of dirt and salt behind. Her whole back was coated in these trails, making it moist and disgusting. Her shirt clung to her awkwardly as she bent down placing one palm on the hot earth.
In her other hand she held a tiny rosemary bush. As she gently placed the delicate plant in the small hole she had dug, she forgot all about sweat trails on her back and the clinginess of her shirt. Aynslee loved plants. They were her passion.
She loved the feel of the damp earth between her fingers as she created an indent in it. She loved the softness and delicateness of a young plant. She loved the energy that ricocheted off of them, making her giddy. There was nothing in the entire world like watching a plant you care for grow into a something big and beautiful
Aynslee finished patting the dirt around the herb. She stood up and brushed her dirty hands on her equally dirty thighs. Aynslee surveyed her handiwork. There were herbs: the rosemary bush she had just planted, pineapple sage, regular sage, basil, and mint and there were flowers: pansies, petunias, marigolds, zinnias, Black-eyed Susans and dahlias. Arranged in a bed of mulch, it was a perfect blend of flowers and herbs. Exactly what the Taylors wanted.
Aynslee pulled her wand out and flicked her wrist slightly to the right. A gentle rush of water flowed out, creating pools at the base of each plant under her direction.
Unknown to Aynslee, Mrs. Marsha Taylor had exited her house and come to see Aynslee’s progress. “It’s beautiful.”
Aynslee jumped a foot backwards, nearly landing on her zinnias. “Oh, gosh, I didn’t see you,” she said wiping her hand across her forehead, to keep the sweat and sunscreen mix from burning her eyes. ”So, you like it?” She gestured behind her to the garden.
“I love it. It really adds to the house.” Marsha gushed. She and her husband had recently moved to Maryland and had been taken with all the gardens. In their search for a gardener, they’d found Aynslee Smith. She was renowned gardener in the area, who also happened to be a witch, like them. “Would you like some lemonade?” asked Marsha, inviting Aynslee in.
“Oh! Umm... no thanks, Marsha, it was nice of you to offer though. I should really be going.”
“Well, if you’re sure...”
“Thanks again for the wonderful job you’ve done. Are you coming back tomorrow?” asked Marsha.
“Yes, I will be here everyday this week,” replied Aynslee as she eyed the garden.
“Great! See you, then.” Marsha left the front yard and re-entered her house.
Aynslee glanced back to the garden. On of her dahlia’s had a wilting flower. She whipped out her wand and tapped the flower gently. It instantly regained its full glory. Satisfied, Aynslee stowed her wand and Disapparated.