She sweeps the fallen leaves away with the old garden rake. It is mudy, rusty and will eventually break.
Once the dead methane diffusers are cleared, she brushes away the rough, dry topsoil that hadn’t been watered for what must be more than twenty days.
Her big hands grip around the shovel and start digging, digging until the 'darker soil' is seen.
She gently pushes the soil into the blue ceramic pot with her bare hands, feeling it’s freshness.
Her nails are now stained. She feels it’s roughness. She pokes a finger into the soil - that she first evened out and drops a few tiny seeds. They blend into their new home.
It is watered everyday- bizarre to sprinkle water on bare soil. But the seedlings will not be late. Oh, she is counting down the days.
She sits, peaceful in the attic.
She just moved in.
She added a low desk and a wooden shelf, all the hassle for a place to study. Maybe the hard work will pay up, maybe she will someday reap the fruits.
But up to now, whenever they were ripe, they fell and rotted on the ground. Someday, she will catch one.
So she crosses her legs and curls into the large chair until all her work is done.
Minutes, hours, days, and weeks unfold swifter than her calculating fingertips on the pages of her book. Fragile shoots appear and begin to grow, albeit at their own good time. She watches as they push through the surface, and she is intoxicated by the peculiar joy it brings her.
She brings in a vibrant green stonecrop from the garden to keep the infants company.
'Look out!' She alerts her dog as he curiously sniffs the threatening cactus. She couldn’t help but welcome new plants.
They surrounded her. Yet she is careful never to sleep in the room because the grown-ups always warned her about the dangers of sleeping with outdoor plants. Alas, 'They will steal all your air,' they say. She promised never to stay late into the night.
As the plants grow taller, the population grows wider.
The diversity branches from striking Crane’s Bill to gentle sweet Alyssums. And the girl turns wise, sharp and resilient - taking after the snake plant.
One night, she is past her bedtime, immersed in her research on hormonal regulation of plant growth and development. Her thoughts wonder to the ones crashing up and building her own system.
The seedlings have transformed. They are magnificent cascading Lobelias pouring down the staircase and gifted with the truest blue. Her room is swarmed with life. She lets the red fish swirl around in a decorated bowl. Her dog is her partner in crime when she goes fishing for new plants from the garden. Life is thriving.
She believes in the life that wraps her, but she struggles to keep going.
Keep failing. Keep making mistakes. Keep brushing the dirt off.
The moonlight seeps into her room this night, and she catches glimpses of stars ridiculously far away.
She breathes, and tonight, she will stay up.
She smiles and looks at the greens, purples, reds, and blues, then gratefully whispers,
"Tonight, we can share the air."
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