Haralambus (known as Harry) and Hughina (known as May) Pfahlert were well into their retirement years. Harry’s main interest was the garden. With late autumn approaching he had been busy tidying the garden so that at the end of winter all the back-breaking work would be done and it would be less of a hassle come spring.
Well dear, said Harry to May after two weeks of extensive labour in the garden, all is done. Everything is weeded. Everything is fertilized. Leaves are dug in or burnt and the ashes hoed in. Mulch has been spread. Shrubs sensitive to the winter cold have been covered. I might be weary, but I’m well satisfied. The garden has been put to sleep. Let it snow! Let it snow!
It was such a pleasure in winter to view the snowed-in garden through the living room window, with the log fire roaring away and the smell of cinnamon buns cooking in the oven. All done! All done! One could enjoy the order of it all and look forward to the chaos of new life!
It was such a pity that Harry died in his sleep that very night.
Weave a Web 
I bet he died happy.
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Presumably he died happy but I’m not in a position to ask him.
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Fair enough.
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This is Uber-realism. Though it’s darkly comical (as always), it kinda tugs on your heart strings when you think of the ephemerality of life.
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“The ephemerality of life” sounds like a very sophisticated soap!
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Some emotional drama with flashbacks and heartbreaking moments! I might just write a short story oozing with melancholy called just that!
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Ah, to die in one’s peaceful sleep with one’s affairs in order. That’s surely one of the happiest endings you’ve penned!
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A favourite bit from poet William Blake’s “The Book of Thel”:
Gentle may I lay me down
and gentle rest my head,
and gentle sleep the sleep of death, and gentle hear the voice of Him
who walketh in the garden in the evening time.”
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Well… at least May will have a good winter.
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It must be southern hemisphere if May is a good winter!
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Ah you got me there!
This story should be the very definition of life.
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When I die, I want to die in my sleep like my grandfather did and not screaming in terror the way his passengers did.
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Ha ha ha!
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What a downer! The work did him in, but his wife will reap the benefits!
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If she sells the house she might get more for it for having a tidy garden!
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I’ll bet he died satisfied though and who knows, maybe his spirit still lurks around the garden admiring his handiwork!
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I too intend to hover around my garden – if such a thing is permissible. Although I might get annoyed if my garden-inheritor doesn’t do a good job.
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