One Small Garden

A gardener has one small garden. It is behind her house in Leeds. Every year, she watches it change.

In February, the garden is cold and brown. There is no color. But under the ground, the seeds are waiting.

In March, the first green leaves come up. They are very small. The gardener is happy. She waters them every day.

In April, there are flowers. Yellow, white, and red. A few bees come. The garden is full of life.

The gardener sits on her old chair. “Every year, the same,” she says. “And every year, I love it.”

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A gardener has one small garden. It is behind her house in Leeds. Every year, she watches it change.

In February, the garden is cold and brown. There is no color. But under the ground, the seeds are waiting.

In March, the first green leaves come up. They are very small. The gardener is happy. She waters them every day.

In April, there are flowers. Yellow, white, and red. A few bees come. The garden is full of life.

The gardener sits on her old chair. “Every year, the same,” she says. “And every year, I love it.”