First prompt: Take a line from a Robert Bly poem and let it be the opening of your story.

And I said to myself, "What have you done with the garden that was entrusted to you?'

Well sir, I replied. I've watched said garden overrun by briars, brambles and bittersweet.

My boots tread the frozen crust of it now. I'm collecting dried sharp and clinging burs along my pant legs.

Yes, you charged me with the burden of cultivation without realizing that I'd already devoted myself - my energies, my will - to the three-pronged discipline of the dispirited. 

My spiritual practice - rumination, procrastination, hibernation. 

Your garden, Sir, will have to wait for Spring. Just the same as us all.