Of Palms

There is a palm that sits in my office. I've had it for years, maybe eight or nine. Probably the longest I've had any plant in the house.

I don't treat it very well. It's supposed to get a lot of sun, but with my north-facing window the only light in the room, it doesn't. And it's supposed to get fertilized occasionally. That hasn't happened since I got it.

I neglect it so much that often, the only time I notice it, is when half the leaves have turned brown and shriveled up, and I think surely this time, I've neglected it too long. I've nearly given up on it more times than I can count. It's so easy to forget. So easy to just give up on it and throw it away. Replace it with a fake. (There are a lot of things like that, aren't there?)

Each time I think about tossing it, I look in the soil and realize once more that I haven't watered it in a month-and-a-half, and wonder to myself what might happen if I give it a little water, a little TLC.

Every time, it comes back. It wants to live. It just needs a bit more attention than I give it.

It's very patient with me, and today I am thankful.