It sat on top of a microwave, in a tiny, dark, cold office space that was really a storage closet with a window. During the times I thought I might lose my mind, I watched the plant’s health. It refused to wither. It stood hardy and strong, and occasionally sprung a tender new leaf. Sometimes I would forget to water it or take it home during vacations, but it withstood this neglect andstubbornly(顽固地,倔强地)lived on. Thisbuoyed(支撑,鼓励)my spirit more than chocolate or pats on the back.
Our adoptedfoliage(植物,叶子)can serve as a sort ofbellwether(前导,领导者)for our lives. Most of us have gone through periods where we let the phone ring, the dishes pile up, and the houseplantsshrivel(枯萎,褶皱). Eventually, the pile ofbrittle(易碎的,脆弱的)leaves collecting beneath theficus(无花果属)forces us to assess the state of our lives.
Of course, because we have sentimentalized our plants, it’s tempting to read their lives for clues to our own. Once, when a relationship was dying, my African violet exploded with unseasonable purple flowers. Maybe, I thought, there’s hope. There was—for the violet.
My stepmom visits a particularhemlock(铁杉)in a park near her home every New Year’s Day. She walks circles around its trunk, one hand on the bark, releasing regrets from the old year and planning for the new one. Her own history and life is now intertwined with the hemlock’s, as year after year, the tree receives her hopes andushers(招待,引导)them forth with fresh oxygen. “Here you go, it says. “Here’s some more life.
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