The afternoon light fell across the garden at a sharp angle, filtering through ‘The Coolness of The Day, in plain view of leaves that had witnessed generations of bloom and harvest. Fig shifted in the breeze, drawing back a branch to let the light reach Olive’s western leaves.
FIG — his voice rustling, heavy with the sap of the sixth day
“He watched the cedars again today. They’ve shaded the young vines beneath them.”
Olive’s silver-green leaves stirred.
OLIVE “They’ve grown tall.”
FIG “Too tall?”
OLIVE “For whom? We’ve both had branches we thought he would leave.”
Fig was quiet for a moment.
FIG “I remember.”
OLIVE “You may learn the seasons. You may learn principle. Still, it comes down to the Master’s pruning.”
A breeze passed between their canopies.
FIG “We learned to measure ourselves by each other instead of the height of the hedge. I know where my shade falls now.”
OLIVE “And I know where mine falls.”
FIG “So we hold the line together.”
OLIVE — harmonizing
“We hold the line.”
Beyond the hedge, the Cedars began again.
CEDARS “Six. Seven. Six. Seven.”
FIG “They speak as though one carries them straight into the other.”
OLIVE “As though completion were waiting on the highest branch.”
His leaves rustled against hers.
FIG “And all they had to do was grow.”
Olive fell still. Across the garden, the Master paused beneath the cedars.
OLIVE “They don’t know that the Master may cut what they expected to keep.”
