There was a woman. She was old and sat silent. She would sit on her deck through summers and winter, autumns and springs. She would sit on her deck with her watering can beside her and her plants on the faded and splintering wooden planks of the deck and shelves around her. She was only missing one thing. Something she used to have. Something she loved. The life in her plants. The plants that sat around her were brown and withered, lifeless. But still, she would tip her bronze, rusted, watering can just enough to water the soil. She watered the plants everyday. She never missed the time one.
Her plants used to thrive. The vibrant leaves stayed just the same throughout every storm. Except the last ones. The leaves started to fade. They would fade just a bit more with every wind and every rain drop. Soon, the once giant blossoms were small and colorless.
One day, a child asked her why her plants died and why she still waters them. She told him  that “it takes more than just water to keep something as complex as a plant alive and thriving”. She told me, “they need good soil and good sun. If one is missing, they will die, and you can't do anything but your part to keep it alive”. She started to cry then. He left her alone with her plants and her tears.
Many years after, I now sit on my deck. I sit silently with my rusted watering can and dead plants. Their soil was good to begin with, but they changes soil too much. The sun was never consistent. Here one day and then gone for years. I water these plants everyday. I have not yet forgotten how beautiful they used to be or how beautiful they could have been today.
And that old silent woman, I am not her. She lay six feet under across the street. She lay happily for now she knows she did her part. And everyday, two women come to freshen the soil and clear a way for the sun to shine, but never with water.