short fiction · 2026-10-12

The Quiet Tending

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

I walked into the greenhouse at dawn, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and seedlings waiting for care. I knelt beside the rows of lettuce, gently loosening the soil around each tender leaf, feeling the cool moisture seep through my fingers. The sun filtered through the glass panes, casting amber patches that seemed to whisper encouragement. After a while I noticed a small sprout pushing through the cracked pot, its fragile green shoot a hopeful sign amid the uncertainty. It appears I felt uncertain, and it is likely that the gentle water would help, watching the droplets cling like tiny mirrors, and felt a quiet satisfaction that lingered long after I left.