Propagation

Pothos in water.

(Digital)

One of my friends has a burgeoning plant habit that is marked by a talent for nurturance and multiplication. They’re all lovely, and I enjoy them, but what I need is their lights.

This winter began with such terrible cold in the dark that the fingers of despair are crawling in along the edges of normal earlier than usual. In an average winter, it takes until mid-February before I begin to paradoxically wonder if life is worthwhile and if I should stop turning left before 3pm on Tuesdays because that's what might kill me. This time around, it’s only a few days into January and I can feel the dread, like an oily deep sea creature, lurching through the background of my thoughts. It hasn’t dispersed into the foreground yet, which is good, but it’s definitely there, which is less good.

I need a better sun lamp than the many lights that feed all these little plants. I need to stick my face right in front of it and listen to a beach scene soundtrack. I need to go to Arizona and sit in the desert. I need to move to Fiji.

While we’re at it I need a few million dollars and the promise of an afterlife. I need a lot of things. But at least I’ve already got great things. I know that. Even if the dark doesn’t.