This is from my account on Wattpad!! My username is: Phoebae111.
Everyone has something that they enjoy doing more than anything else. For me it is writing. For you it might be reading, or playing sports, or maybe you want to spend your whole life playing video games. Mrs. Williams, however, loved to garden. She spent all morning and all afternoon in her spacious backyard caring for the earth. If she wasn't out in her garden though, she was in her little country cottage with her husband, Mr, Williams. No words could describe how much Mr. Williams adored, and loved his wife. He loved her free spirit and her laughing nature. He had fallen in love with her youthful smile and witty conversation. Everyday of his life he spent trying to make her as happy as she could be. And Mrs. Williams was very happy. She too had an unfathomable love for her significant other, and she loved their cottage, tucked away in the country, with it's big gardens and clean air.
But the couple grew old, had a family, and the happiness faded slowly. Mr. Williams died January 7, 2008. After he died Mrs. Williams had trouble living on her own. She was a forgetful woman and forgot most things except for the loving memory of her husband. Her daughter, Mary, decided to move Mrs. Williams closer to the city where Mary would be able to help her more.
So they sold the old cottage and Mrs. Williams moved away from her now overgrown gardens. She moved into a small apartment a block away from Mary. The apartment was located above the busiest street in town. There was no more clean air, and no more gardens for Mrs. Williams. Yes, she loved seeing her grandchildren, and her daughter. But she did miss her cottage, and more than anything she missed Mr. Williams.
Her main consolation was the private balcony connected to her apartment and the potted flowers sitting there. Every morning she would go out with a cup of tea and a watering can to water the flowers. Then she sat, drank her tea, and listened through the sound of the busy street to the faint language of birds.
She was quite a sight, with her hair in curlers, eyes closed, legs propped on the balcony railing, the potted plants beside her, and a single bright pink plastic flamingo sticking out from the one pot. Mr. Williams, who had little sense of style, had bought it for her the year he died, and even though it was so sightly Mrs. Williams loved it.
The flamingo and a single pot of flowers was all she had kept from the giant garden in the countryside. She got up now from her balcony seat and looked at those flowers. They were small, blue flowers, with yellow stars in the center. In the evening times they were wonderfully fragrant. They were forget-me-nots, Mr. William's favorite.
