Brilliance

There is one southern-facing window in this house. It's in my bedroom.

That's where I keep all the indoor plants, for obvious reasons. Sometimes, in the mornings, I just sit in my chair and enjoy the early sun and gaze at the plants awhile.

It's okay to laugh. I do, too. It's kind of silly. But it creates a feeling of deep satisfaction. No matter what's going on in life, no matter the topsy-turvy-ness of the interplay of emotion and real life, there will still be morning sunshine, a chair, and houseplants.



I don't actively pursue houseplants. Plants just happen to me. All my indoor plants are gifts from friends, or plants sprouted from fruits and veggies I've eaten and encountered, or in the case of the strawberries, plants that just refused to stop growing.

They greet the springtime like an old friend, even from inside. The strawberries are putting out flowers. The pumpkin plant grows three inches every time I see it. Even the reluctant avocado raised up a little green bud over the last few weeks.

I'm hoping for growth and blooming, too. I'd like nothing better than to know, with such humble patience, when's the right time for such unabashed brilliance.