I Am but a Plant
On a deep, grateful breath for the coming of Spring.
I opened the windows in my apartment today.
It was first thing, and I was curled up in a big sweatshirt, hair still falling out of the messy braid I slept in, as I padded over to the thermostat to turn the heat up from 60 to 65. The weather app said it was 40 degrees outside, and the morning sun was shining through my breezy curtains, dancing upon the leaves of my newly perked-up spider plant.
I made my way to the kitchen, poured my chilled coffee into a glass full of ice, watched it cascade down the ice cubes as it pooled up, up, up, all the way to the top.
And then, with iced coffee in hand, sweatshirt pulled tight against my neck, teeth slightly chattering, I made my way back to the sunny window and threw it open.
I wilt during the winter months.
I’ve always joked with my family and friends that in previous lives I was never an animal, just a plant. I thrive with lots of water and lots of sun and lots of kind encouraging words that help me stand a bit taller.
Sometimes, I catch myself staring at my peace lily, with its droopy leaves due to lack of sunlight, and think: we are the same.
