how minds bloom | hank, sawyer

s a w y e r    l l e g e t   .

The analogy of the garden is prevalent in much of the Church's music. Sawyer sees beauty in such life existing in this place. Much of the grounds are made of an infertile desert: natural bushes are dying shrubbery and the occasional low and wide cactus plant. Anything naturally green dries up in the outskirts. The prairie out past the North Tower is pretty enough, but he's not allowed to go that far unless accompanied by a member of the divine.

Sawyer weighs his options for new verses. Their Creator has made so much for them, and after Tanner took up his offer to modernize one of the pieces for his wedding, it has only bolstered his willingness to make more. Little changes, tweaks, and additions. He's practiced new compositions recently that might be well suited when the time comes for joyous praise. Writing music is a process built up by repetition: knowing what works and what doesn't helps him to innovate while keeping their tradition as Father requests of him. It is the lyrics that falter him. Everything he writes feels uninspired.

And the pianist-turned-lyricist knows why: how can he be inspired when the world around him is limited? Where work is concerned, he is to stay in his lane, trusting the role he was given by Father Vigilanco. He asked his father questions about working on the Church's community farm, hoping to get something from a source he's lived with for eighteen years, but the vision of his work is stale. In no way does Sawyer understand agriculture better when he throws his notebook in his satchel and heads out with just that and an old blanket for the day. Thankfully, like Sawyer, the garden boy is never too far away from the church.

Hank Buckley, tender to the colorful gardens planted throughout the grounds, works on the perimeter of the church building today. Sawyer spreads the blanket, already dusted, dirtied, and slightly torn from picnics and enjoying the weather in the summer, near the gardener's work. It's anchored down on all ends by his notebooks and satchel for now. The colors are organized with precision and intent. Sawyer believes Hank's job of taking care of the surrounding life is an art form. The garden not only looks alive, but it also looks well and healthy. To Sawyer's own standards, anyway. After all, he is trying to master the language and detail of the surrounding flora.

That is why he greets Hank. "Good morning, Hank. Pleasant weather we're having today." Sawyer folds his hands back and leans toward the garden, careful not to invade the space while the gardener is at work. He gives Hank some time to respond before continuing. "I'm working on a project for music at our Sunday services. I'd like to use the gardens for imagery. Would that be okay?" Sawyer leaves a sweet smile should Hank turn, to ensure him that he doesn't mean any harm. They're both rather reserved– he knows this– but hopefully, the experience will be of benefit to both of them.

"I won't impose on your work. I'd just like to ask some questions about your vision and work if that's already." Sawyer returns to his blanket, just a few feet away and at an angle for a clear view of Hank's work. He adjusts the straps of his suspenders and sits cross-legged on the floor. The uncapped pen tenses in his hand as he presses it against a fresh page of his notebook.

Number Two: The Garden.