Sometimes I cry about what seem to be the silliest things. Today I wanted to show my favorite photo from my trip to Charleston, SC. But it’s gone. For me, this photo says (said) so much about me and the way I see life (and my teeny part in it). Amazing how something can so easily disappear. And amazing that I am so easily brought to tears.
The photo was taken through my hotel window, five stories up, of a little plant that had grown in the windowsill. I noticed it on the morning of our second day. It was cool and breezy and the little plant swayed and bobbed. It looked to be some kind of fern. Something tropical and unknown to me. Obviously, no one on the hotel staff had seen this plant or it would have been unceremoniously removed. Likely, I was the first and only to see this little out of place plant. I felt an instant kinship.
How can this little fern thrive here, I wondered. There could only be a miniscule amount of dirt and moisture in that crack in the wood. It couldn’t possibly know nor care that thousands and thousands of its kind were flourishing five stories down and in garden after garden until the land meets the water. No one has ever read this plant the adage “bloom where you are planted.” It is not telling itself that it has overcome all kinds of obstacles. It is only the result of a wind-blown spore meeting a tiny crack. It doesn’t yearn to live among the other plants down on the warm ground, protected from the wind. It just is. Or was. Chances are just as likely that it is gone as it is that it is thriving and doubling in size every week.
I suppose I am obsessing about this little plant (and with the city itself). The suggestion to return to Charleston and room 528 of the Hampton Inn would be met with an immediate packing of toiletries in small bottles into quart-sized baggies. Yes, I would be greatly disappointed to find the plant dead or removed. At least I would be back in that city. Among other artists, warm-weather lovers and intoxicatingly fragranced vines (five stories down and until the city meets the water). This time, however, I would quickly grow roots so I could not be unceremoniously removed.