I have discovered the pleasant ritual of placing delicate plants on the dresser near the large window in my bedroom
The window faces whatever direction that might be which receives no sun throughout the day
The plants do not have a long and prosperous life there. Often I say to them: “If I were you, I would consider a move somewhere. Perhaps some place sunny and warm. It would do you a world of good.”
But do they listen?
Never. Except, perhaps, the orchid.
One day, during the winter, it jumped off the counter after I slammed the door as I called you a terrible name. Falling to the floor, it was only able to scatter a small amount of its soil as the breeze flowed through the window, which it did only for a moment and when the door slammed again and I called you another terrible name–more terrible than the first.
I consider, as of this day, the orchid to be the bravest and perhaps smartest of all houseplants, although orchids would not agree that they are houseplants.
And the orchid, its seed scattered, did not live long. What else is new? As I dreamed, I saw you lift your head off the pillow, and keep it there until I looked at you and said
“What have I done?”
Then you smiled and put your head down on the pillow and rested, closing your eyes. “What did I do?”
But orchids don’t have eyes.
all artwork, except likenesses of Lyndon B. Johnson & Charles Darwin, by Crispy Flotilla ® 2006
please note: any resemblance between Charles Darwin and funny looking white bearded scowling Charles Darwiny-looking guy in a wine colored jacket or coat in keeping with the style of men's fashion during Charles Darwin's final years is purely coincidental