every night before i go to bed and every morning when i wake up, i smile at my african violet that sits content in a terracotta pot beside the futon. sometimes, i run my finger over its fuzzy leaves. once in a while, i even speak to it.
“you are so lovely!” i say, giddily.
this plant is my favorite in the whole house, but i try not to let on to the other six or seven plants in the house or they might get jealous. it’s just that it is the hardest to grow. it takes just the right amount of light and you have to water it from the bottom and, well, i killed the last one. two weeks ago the first new blossoms sprung and just last week i noticed that several more were on the way and i realized that perhaps my brown thumb is turning slightly green.