Now there are crimson tulips in one room, white and pink ones in another, and I can breathe, am full of joy and at home again. -- May Sarton, American poet and novelist (1912-1995)
For the past couple of weeks, I've been watering a neighbor's flowers while she's been away on vacation in London. Today I received an e-mail from her, describing in great detail various plays she's seen, theatrical troupe members she's met, and how great it is to be in England. Lucky woman!
When I've walked into her apartment and out onto her deck, I've actually had the feeling that the twenty or so plants were glad to see me and relieved that they were going to be properly watered. I could almost hear them sighing with pleasure -- I know, I know, maybe a bit too much wine?
At any rate, I was wondering why my deck isn't chock-full of flowers of all types, in all colors of the rainbow, welcoming me at every hour? I think it's because everything is so uncertain right now, I just cannot bear to take on a plant, a living thing, that requires care and feeding, however minimal that might be. My usual self just loves flowers; my uncertain self loves flowers, but doesn't want to take the responsibility for keeping them alive at this particular point.
I think eventually, somewhere, I will again have a garden, whether indoor or outdoor, and that I will delight in watching flowers grow. I've tried silk flowers, but the fact that they need no care doesn't cancel out for me the fact that they have no life. I like the real deal.
Do you love flowers?