I have always been terrible with plants, in the plant kingdom I am known as Connie Kevorkian. This summer has been particularly bad, or good from the perspective of the plants. The hardy snake plant I bought to replace the ones I had already killed in the tool-themed memorial planter we received for Tracy's funeral, refused to either sink roots or die, so I replaced it with an artificial snake plant that is thriving at least as well as its predecessor. That leaves two planters in my house and only one live plant.
Even on the summers when I do not buy hanging baskets for the front deck, I usually get a good sized planter for the wishing well decoration in our yard. I don't want neighbors to refer to our house as the one with no flowers. But this summer, either through the well's wish or my own, I could not bring myself to buy a basket that I was unwilling to either water or sacrifice. I sometimes wonder what that reveals about my state of mind, but it does not matter because the wishing well now, and for summers to come, will contain artificial flowers.
Recently I looked out my front window and noticed these little red flowers growing in last year's wishing well basket, all on their own despite, or because of, no intervention from me. I've got to admire the chutzpah of a plant that keeps on blooming, rain or shine, neglected and alone. It gives me hope on my dry days of sorrow, that I should keep blooming regardless of conditions. Because I am still alive. Because it is what God intends for us to do. The beauty of blooming is not that it can be cultivated, it is that it cannot be constrained.
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