A flowering plant on our balcony must be a Hawaiian expat, from the looks of it. From the looks of it, it’s longing for home. Its shamrocky lettuce leaves are perky but its bloom instinct is asleep. Daily, what I suspect should be pink tutu blooms, remain only closed buds that never meet their promise. They just sort of show up and don’t do anything vaguely flowery.
It’s my fault for planting it where it gets too much sun. I didn’t think it possible to get too much sun, since I live in Chicago; but, alas, ’tis.
What to do? What to do? I think I should move it, change its environment; but secretly hope it will find the courage to make do with where it is.
Maybe God made plants so we would have metaphors.