It’s quiet when Minho wakes up. Sunbeams meander through the canopy of the top trees and by the time they reach him  in the hammock, they’ve been softened enough to just bring warmth without blinding him. He moves to stretch, taking advantage of the fact that he’s the only one in the hammock to move as he pleases. Normally he’d move gently around as to not wake or scare Jonghyun. Today, though, the hammock was his and his alone. Jonghyun had gone on a trip. Taemin and Kibum were curious as to if Jonghyun could reach their cloud cave, so Taemin had volunteered to travel along with him (to make little cloud resting places for him as he needs) since there were no storms that he needed to make that day. Kibum and Jinki had left on a trip a few days earlier; something about testing ways to make bigger waves and water spouts. For the first time in a long time, Minho was alone for the day. Though he had spent many years alone -- at least fifty, by Kibum’s guess -- the feeling was odd to him now. Swinging his legs over the side so he was sitting up, Minho inspected his garden. It had been a while since he had given it the full attention he used to, especially with Jonghyun’s antics and the added pressure of growing fruit for four people beyond himself.

Standing, he looked around again before walking along the perimeter to the waterhole closer to his hammock. Before, he had to collect rainwater in a cistern but now he didn’t have to. Jonghyun and Jinki, in an effort to give something back to Minho beyond just friendship, had worked together to build two wells and a whole collection of tunnels under the sand. Jonghyun had dug all the holes and tunnels and Jinki had brought the water. Under guidance of the lady, he’d learned how to enchant the tunnels so that any seawater that came into them was immediately desalinated into freshwater. It was no small miracle and it had greatly improved all of Minho’s already wonderful flowers. He took a moment to look at his reflection in the water. He noticed flowers in his hair and grabbed one to examine. It was a little zinnia: he must be more lonely than he thought.

After tending to plants he already had planned to examine that day, Minho looked around for something new to do. He noticed that one of the plots near his hammock was unhealthy. All the leaves were wrinkled and rolling in, the flower petals withered and falling, the stems weak and breaking. He tried to remember what he had grown there before. As he began clearing the plants out, breaking them down with his hands so that they would compost and help improve the soil for whatever he planted in their stead. Although he couldn’t talk to plants like Jonghyun could to animals, per se, he could still understand their needs and -- as Kibum referred to them -- feelings. The feelings contained in these plants were unmistakable: sadness, loneliness, hopelessness. It suddenly struck him where these plants were from.

A few years after being brought to the island, the lady had come to visit Minho. She inquired about his health, happiness, and handiwork. When he said that everything was fine beyond the obvious pains of being lonely, she became furious. Who was he to ask for a friend when she had provided everything for him. He had grown only one plot of flowers in those years, after spending most of his initial time building the tree and vine perimeter around the safer (i.e. mostly out of tide’s reach) part of the island. It had taken a month to grow his first proper flower and the other twenty or so blooms had taken almost as long. Each day he had to coax them to grow properly. Now that they were blooming wonderfully and growing strong, his labor of love had turned into his pride and joy. In her anger, the lady scorched everything within the confines of the trees. When she departed, Minho was left with nothing but ashes. He sank to his knees and tried to feel for any remaining roots though he knew there wouldn’t be any. He had marked the space for each flower with little seashells and as he moved from ring to ring he couldn’t help but cry. He didn’t think that a friend, even just a little bird, was too much to ask for, much less something to be punished for. As he made to his way to the last ring, the tears came stronger until he couldn’t move. He sobbed and wailed until his body couldn’t give anymore and he fell asleep. When he woke up in the morning, he was surrounded by a sea of red and black and white and blue flowers: anemone, syringa, bramble, asphodel, hemlock, belladonna, mourning bride, and more flowers had sprung up during the night. A garden of mourning had sprung up from the ashes of his garden of love and pride, watered -- literally -- by his tears.

He shook his head to dispel the memory. It struck him that since the flowers had been pulled directly from his own emotion, it made sense that they were dying away since he no longer felt such loneliness. Intrigued at the concept, he wondered if he could purposely grow flowers based on feelings rather than thinking about the flowers themselves. If he could make a garden from tears and his mood  generate miniature flowers in his hair, then surely he could grow flowers based on feelings? Using one of the drier stalks, he divided the plot into four mostly equal parts. He made internal borders wide as his hand. As he retraced the lines with his hand, clover and cress started poking up through the sand. He moved to the plot closest to one of the watering holes. After deciding it would be Jinki’s plot, he tried thinking of feelings associated with memories of Jinki. He closed his eyes and thought about how happy he was to finally make a friend; how Jinki had come to be a source of strength and consistency in his life; how he admired Jinki. He put his hands to the ground and let his feelings dictate the flowers. When it was done, he opened his eyes. The formally barren square was now filled with yellow and white and purples and blues: hyacinths, fennel, snowdrop, agrimony, sunflowers, and verbena blossoming together. Excited, he moved on. He put Jonghyun’s on the other side, closer to the hammock. He thought about the loyalty and comfort and devotion between himself and the newest member of their friend group; how quickly friendship and affection had developed. He put his hands to the ground again but didn’t close his eyes. Instead he watched as the plot went from sand to white and yellow and pink and purples: alstroemeria, chamomile, geranium, heliotrope, milkvetch, and statice sinuata all growing so intertwined it was hard to tell which plant started where. Taemin’s was below Jinki’s plot, on the waterhole side. Taemin’s was the hardest to understand his feelings for. Though they met rather quickly because of Jinki, their friendship had progressed the most slowly. There was definite fondness and friendship between two, but there was also feelings of uncertainty and a desire to be more close. Minho rested his hands on the ground while he tried to better describe the feelings to himself and was surprised when flowers started growing anyways. Again the plot was all yellows and purples and whites: daisy, daphne odora, goldenrod, daffodils, lilac, and periwinkle springing up slowly but surely. Kibum’s plot was both the last and the easiest. He closed his eyes, put his hands on the ground, and thought about Kibum, his mind immediately filling with fondness and affection. When he opened his eyes, the reds, and pinks of the plot immediately stood out from the other three; sweet pea, morning glory, honeysuckle, and a variety of tulips, roses, and peonies bloomed thickly, to the point that leaves and stems were almost completely hidden. Standing, Minho admired his work. His mourning garden had been restored to a garden of love. He was pleased with it. Little raindrops began to make their way down to the flowers. Taemin had mentioned sending rain when they were on their way back. Judging by how long they’d been gone, Minho guessed they’d be back by morning. Satisfied, he moved on to the next project: figuring out how to grow those pink blueberries that Kibum brought from his last trip to the mainland.