Thursday, February 22, 2024

A Love Letter to Spring

I was dutifully tending to my plants as if it were a delicate ballet of watering in the choreography of nurturing. I had forgotten the art of pruning and fertilizing them. I'd moved them from the living room to the brightest afternoon spot in my window (sadly, I moved my indoor plants to my window and my peace lily is was suicidal). On a Monday morning in February steeped in weariness, I noticed a slender stem emerging from the heart of the spider plant. At first, I dismissed it as an impromptu guest in my green sanctuary, born out of some seeds my mother might have just dumped in my planters.

To my astonishment, my spider plant had unfurled buds—a revelation born from the depths of my ignorance. I was unaware, till that point, that spider plants bore flowers. My spider plant is a variegated one, which almost looks like a spider lily plant. Research to the rescue! The mere realization of my spider plant blossoming had filled me with inexplicable happiness.

It took a fortnight for the buds to unfold their beauty, and during that time, I waited patiently, ensuring to appreciate them while watering and silently whispering thank you for the joy they brought into my life (because I almost killed the plant twice because other things needed my attention). Witnessing the unfurling of a bud every morning brings in a sense of divine beauty and wonder.

silent symphonies
of white, delicate petals
grace into being
unfurling its grace
surreptitiously so
in my nestled hands

Its coming into being, into existence is a silent love letter to spring; like a gentle reminder: to love is to nurture...