Arrayed before me was a small and rather perfect garden. It was clear, to my astonished eyes, that this garden was well tended, and well loved.
All here was as it should be, and everything was in its place. I could tell as much from the neat and well trimmed rows of flowers, the clean lines of the paths between plantings, the tidily ordered patches of green and brown, punctuated by phosphorescent splashes of wildest color.
Yet it all seemed familiar — entirely too familiar. “Is this some terrible jest?” I asked myself. “What cruel madman would go to such great effort, merely to achieve an end such as this?”
For I recognized this garden all too well. It was the very image of the well tended little garden that had been the pride and joy of my late departed bride.