Traverse City, MI
I miss your green, your silent acceptance of my work, even when I’m goofing off.
Oh, dear, did I forget to give you extra water? I don’t worry about you as much as I do about your younger siblings—plants I’ve only had only a year or less—however, they are succulents and should be okay with drier conditions.
I always forget how you found your way into my plant celibate life, that I rescue you from a window shelf when I was working at Kellogg’s in various offices the summer of 2002. You’d been deserted, stuck on that ledge by someone no longer there, and with no one claiming you, you were on your last breath, dirt totally dry, crumpling quite a bit in the sun.
What amazes me about you is your ability to thrive in the dark with little light other than the weak rays that filter in through the slabs, and even with our Michigan gray weather, which is definitely transitioning into its fall rains, you still thrive and bloom offering me quarterly pearly blossoms and new shoots almost monthly.
Looking forward to seeing and being with you again.
Love, gee how should I sign this? Mom? Your friend? Your keeper? I know I call you Buddy quite frequently and know how you prefer being near my desk, near my work, but what do you call me? Hmm, I need to listen more carefully, don’t I?
See you on Sunday!
P.S. This letter was an assignment for a workshop. After writing this letter, the session leader wanted us to rewrite it, since we needed to have asked questions about your plans, what you’ve been doing (ha, like I don’t know what you’ve been doing while I’m gone!), all of which is to inspire you to write back. Yeah, like that’s going to happen. Besides, I think this is a damn, fine letter.