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She had fought for this plant as if it were her own
newborn baby. Fought hard for it,
carried it from one house to another, before She could finally settle it into a
richer soil, a larger pot.
Even then she had to struggle to protect it, to
nourish it in order to keep it alive.
Cold winter intended to blast it with frigid air. Night temperatures whispered frosty words to
it.
Desert sun blasted and glared down upon it. Green leaves began to curl and dry, and might
have been converted from living plant to brittle sticks.
But she spread her mother’s wings over this plant,
spreading mother’s feathers to shelter it.
Soil welcomed and suckled water.
Please excuse this blown-out description of my struggles. It is pretty corny. No, it is totally corny. Writing in 3rd person allowed me to do that. The post title is a bit deceptive, I admit.
Well, this is my lilac bush as the topic of this
post. It may not seem at all vital or
even interesting to you, who are thinking “Who wants to hear about a stupid
plant and this lady? Why am I reading
this, anyway?”
My lilac bush has been struggling for two and a half
years, as I have been with and for it. The “Why?” is
that in my teen years on my father’s farm, an immense lilac bush grew just
beneath my 2nd floor window.
In those April and May times, clusters of lilacs covered it, purple clusters like
grapes on a vine.
So here I am, battling the elements. Desert heat? 112 degrees. Winter frost? 28 degrees. Protecting my little lilac is one big ballet just for a few clusters.
So, that is why I have been a warrior for this
plant, with hope in my heart that purple clusters would appear this year and I can inhale that memory.
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| I can only hope and pray. |
Have you ever felt so strongly about something that you have faced down elements and enemies to protect it?
Are you a plant person who has hovered over green anxiously?
What about some project that requires constant attention?
This could be a long list of questions.
