My new basil plant. The first one I’d gotten early this summer toppled over as soon as I’d unwrapped it. This new one was bright green and standing tall on Monday when I happily unwrapped it at home, watered it with cool water, and it collapsed instantly. (Heard it was temperature shock.)
This morning I thought, I’d eaten some fallen basil leaves in my delicious lunch 🥪yesterday, tossed some more very broken stems with leaves over the balcony: my grandmothers were Italian and liked pesto, my uncles too even if they weren’t known to cook, and maybe someone would’ve wished to cook up a Pesto dinner in heaven with these sent-into-the-wind leaves. How many plates would be set? So including God, relatives, and my dear poets at the table. I didn’t declare any cook or guests.
The snowball flowers in my bedroom seemed happy all day and since I got them, no spots of brown on their petals. Peeko is greatly routine-based and has had his usual long siesta daytime nap tucked away in the office room. Not even on the window sill, my snowball flowers all very neatly blown off their stems. 😞
I may be good at reading and caring for delicate books like The Faery Queene I by Edmund Spenser, which I will return to the library soon, this book I’d given some extra glue to strengthen its spine. It brought out a very warm maternal instinct in me and this is me holding it well and gently. 💕
But I will still try with my plants. 😊🍃