A woman’s story of immigration and finding peace.
Elora lived alone, kind of. She didn’t have any pets. Her only child had left the nest long ago. However, she had her beloved plants which sprawled across two of the four walls in her living room. She sat in her favorite armchair which sat against the northern-facing window, marveling at them in thought, her breathing a bit labored. The low sun illuminated the room as she became more and more a silhouette.
These plants were not simple, low-maintenance little succulents perched on her windowsill. They engulfed her house, their aerial roots reaching up and around their plant pots. Some of them were giant, and all of them were vibrant and green.
Why, you ask, did Elora’s house look like she’d played a round of Jumanji inside it? Well, she never moved them anymore. See, Elora’s plants disliked change. Any time she had moved them to another wall in the past, it had hindered their growth in some way. Either the leaves had turned yellow, drooped, or they’d turned brown and died altogether. It could’ve been a change in lighting, draught, or otherwise.
So Elora had solved the problem–keep them comfortable. Keep them happy. Don’t put them through change as it stressed them out. She coughed loudly, then took a deep breath. Birds chirped from a tree somewhere behind the window.
