No one came to see the Guardian anymore.  He sat in the same place he had for centuries, his face set like stone against the elements. If someone was to pass him by, they might mistake him for a statue he was so weathered and overgrown with vines. Yet no one had walked down that wooded path in years.  He quietly hummed to himself, watching the humans walk past his hidden grove on the paved sidewalk. He had seen many such people. So many of them distracted by the noises around them to notice the hidden magic of the gardens.  A pigeon landed on the Guardian’s outstretched hand and pooped.…