Two days days ago I heard, from the eastern-facing window, a sound I wasn’t sure I’d hear again. A mourning dove: oo WHO who who who…. It was the same morning I watched a great cloud of crows heading northwest and wondered why. I am fairly fixed in this place where I write. The table and the laptop are on the western side of things, and I watched the sun go down sooner and sooner, the air chilling once the sun is out of sight. I’ve watched the hours lengthen, the sun stays just a tad longer each day though it is still cold outside.
I don’t know what my plants are thinking as this is all going on. I have one sturdy fellow who sits in a plain, gray ceramic bowl but he’s been growing all year without heraldry. My wax plant, after I repotted him, went dormant after a while and I regretted messing with his place on the sill, afraid I hurt his progress, but how could I leave him in a small pot when he grew inches by inches, twisting and exploring my bedroom hourly? His energy and exploration scared me a little.
I brought home a prayer plant from a big box store because I needed a plant to put in an empty pot. Since I brought her home, there have been weird sounds in the west room that really had me wondering, was it the pot that was making that loud “snap”or the plant? I moved the pot to my bedroom sill and the “snap” sound is there instead of the western-facing sill. The snap sounds tapered off, but I still hear it now and then. The plant is thriving and to my amazement, sent off a shoot that produced a flower. In February! I am not known for my green thumb. Anyone you ask will tell you if you have an adored plant, don’t let me take care of it, I just don’t seem to have the knack. But three out of the four are kicking ass.
My wax plant was still during the winter, but two days ago I have seen signs of life: a new leaf is growing, and one of the tendrils is lengthening. They are responding to the sunlight whose hours are growing. I walked around worrying about my green things, asking, “Hey you okay?” I did all that I could but worried it wasn’t good enough, afraid that my ignorance might somehow kill their wonderful presence.
This morning a finch came and sat on the wood scrollwork outside my window. He peeped and I remembered the sound. I also remembered my annoyance at the incessant peeping of three dozen finches that seemed to drown out a decent thought, something I regret and will never allow myself to feel again. I slowly, quietly stepped outside and saw Mister finch with his Missus on the banister down the way. They are looking for a place to make a home. Well come on in, you guys, and tell me what time Spring is coming. We’ll need to celebrate.
