Advice from Plants
I took some pictures of plants this month. Here's what I think they're saying.
In high school I used to say I would make a very good tree. My friends used to say that I was pretentious. I think both judgments are true at the same time. These past few weeks, I haven’t had much time to write anything outside of work, because I try to spend my downtime literally outside of work. I’ve been exploring parks by my new place in the rain. I’ve been photographing plants and imagining their input on my life choices.
So, behold: some flora I’ve found, and the poetry I draw from the petals.
Don’t be afraid to be a whirlwind. Move with your energy, not against it— who ever plays music to sit still and nod? Spill new colors on your life like a tradewind directs a flag; take to the sky loudly and embrace your own asymmetry. Don’t you think the forest looks nicer in all its hues? Don’t you ache for the dapple of sunlight on stem?
Peace takes time. It does not appear all at once. It feathers out and settles in, uneven as it goes— dove-white blooms and hesitant buds, all on the same tree. Keep yourself stable so when serenity flutters in, it has a place to land. Know it is on its way; look back at your branches and see how far you’ve grown.
It’s tiring to give it your all, all of the time. You’re left standing on a hollow stalk; your mirrorlike satin wilts at the edges. Keep standing— you must— but take in the light. If you shine it all out of you, you’ll never catch your breath. If you don’t have the time you need, you need to make the time.
Draw it all in: your capacity for connection is greater than you know. Sturdy ground is worth little if the land is untenable. Why hold out your hands, if not to welcome in? There is space in your core for unknowable things yet: red feathers, wasp nests. Make your heart a home.
It can’t hurt to hope. What’s life without whimsy? Drizzle white wine vinegar into your salad dressing and dream of ambrosia; pluck stems and make wishes wherever you can. This world is not yours, but look how it all bends towards you, and look how you wave in the wind, too. You’re a piece of the whole. The magic is yours.
Thank you, sunlight. Thank you, sky. Thank you, yellow cast on treetops, and white birch bark, and whatever else there is to see, simple and small and so gently comfortable. Raise yourself to the open air; let your eyelashes bleach in the sun. Spiders have hair and fungi have fingers. Isn’t that funny? How warm we all are?
The perfect song for this very moment is nothing you’ll easily find. Even birds can’t put notes to your particular plight. Sometimes there’s rain, and sometimes, you’re in it. The drops drum on your scalp, or windows, or roof. There is no score behind its sad melody. You live and transcribe. The water reflects.
Butter or margarine? Skim or whole milk? You only know the difference when it’s not what you’re used to. Up high, a river is a tear track. Down low, a dewdrop is a flood. That old phrase, the forest for the trees— it’s lost on folks like you. You know neither makes sense without the other.
Beautiful photography to match beautiful words!
Oh, Cara, this is so lovely in so many ways! Your love of nature is so heartwarming and inspiring, and I love anything you produce with this as your muse—keep it up! (Also, hope work’s going well :)