Those that plant in tears will reap with joyous song (Pslam 126)
"What're you doing?" Zack asks her one lazy afternoon in the church as she pokes around her grove of flowers, darting from one to another like a butterfly. Aerith looks up and brightens with a smile. "Oh. Well. Come and see," she says, beckoning him. He walks over to see her hold up a slender index finger, and when he leans in closer he can see it's touched with a crown of yellow dust. He nods admiringly and suddenly Aerith pokes him on the nose, spreading the goldenness around their dingy sanctuary like the sunlight which never quite reaches Midgar, and laughs.
"Usually," she says as she turns back to her precious charges, "there are supposed to be bees to help the flowers . . . meet each other." Aerith winks; Zack raises and eyebrow. "So you get to be the matchmaker, eh?"
"Otherwise they wouldn't grow."
Zack considers this, then slowly reaches down to a flower and comes up with a dab of pollen, which he gently places on her cheek. "You've planted so much happiness" he says, and almost reverently kisses the gold fluff there. "So that someday," Aerith whispers, "someone can reap the goodness that we've sown."