The hoya is blooming again. Every year it flowers a firework of pink stars, sticky nectar, relentless until the table beneath it is tacky-sweet. Can you believe it is nearly 40 now? A clipping of a clipping of a clipping (a daughter of a daughter of a daughter) that was as large as a wildfire and perched on a high shelf, an emerald phoenix. This green history, it watched: a quiet girl writing a book report in front of the fireplace, and shivering children trailing snow through the sliding doors, and the chipmunk they chased out before the cats could find it. It heard the slamming door and the telephone ringing quietly down the hall. It was there when the glasses were raised and the curtains were drawn. It held its breath for the wedding, and the wake. And it blooms, relentless.
Beautiful, Raven! I love this!
Thank you, Rebecca! :)