It started out slowly.
Quietly.
The way that love stories sometimes do.
In 2020, I only had a few.
A couple of potted plants living on the window sill.
"Oh, I'm not the best with plants,” I would say,
so they rarely lived that long.
Shameful.
I know.
There is one though,
bright with shiny green leaves.
I purchased it nearly 6 years ago.
I kept it, carefully.
I watched it grow, slowly.
Quietly.
The way that plants often do.
When the world locked down,
The fear and confusion became so loud.
That's when I started noticing.
Dark green spots, glossy leaves, clumpy soil.
I felt my excitement when a new leaf uncurled,
And my worry when one fell.
A relationship was blooming,
between me and my neon pathos.
.
I woke up and I tuned in.
As my plant was growing,
I was growing, too.
I bought one more,
and then another.
Soon my plants became my guiding light,
during a dark time.
Teaching me.
Lessons about patience and resilience,
And how to grow against all odds.
Unlearning and learning slowly.
Quietly.
The way I usually do.
As my collection of plants grew,
I become more attuned.
Each week, I would zoom to work.
My computer screen shone brightly,
full of my student's faces.
Smiling. Curious.
"Faith, did you get another plant this weekend?"
They knew my love story.
The story of how once upon a time,
I had only a few.
Now there are 19.
19 plants filling the blank spaces in my tiny home.
Resting, growing, giving hope.
I'm still learning from them.
They show me how to be fully human.
Hydrated, patient, present
How to accept death,
and mourn a loss.
How to celebrate the sunshine.
Plants start out slowly.
Quietly.
Then they grow.
The way we always do.
-Faith Eakin-
