Sensory Incantation: Plants

Between the quieting of birds and the hum of commuting cars, I sit scribbling in my journal.

My thoughts punctuated by the crescendo of steam building in the pressure cooker as dinner cooks unsupervised.

Two plants, different varieties, in matching planters on either side of the windowsill facing south — one climbing skyward, the other spreading wide — each with equal rights to the dimming light.

Their distinct personalities mirroring the humans on the minimalistic grey upholstered couch.

As the day concedes to dusk in predictable surrender, the digital weather panel glows brighter, keeping its vigil, with myriad data points blinking their green-white-blue reassurances: today has been measured, tomorrow forecasted, humidity accounted for inside and out.

The five-minute alarm signals the expiration of my me-time, pulling me back to the here and now.

The pup asks curls into my lap, the child recounts the book she just finished reading, the husband looks for TV companionship.

I gaze through the window and see the sum of my parts reflected back.