Once October settles like a mist, I grow a little apathetic about hanging baskets.
I tend to admire plants that flourish through a bit of benign neglect but the dryness of fall this year has put a strain on some of my plant relationships, ones that I have apparently taken for granted.
While dining last night, my bleary gaze settled on the fuchsia on our deck rail.
I frowned.
Did I hear a distant cough?
The leaves said it all.
"Good-bye....gasp."
Or possibly, "WATER!.....wa..ter...cough."
I was brought to my feet as though by an invisible hand and rushed to the tap.
Pity or guilt? No matter. The fuchsia won't question my motivation.
Perhaps it's true that the opposite of love isn't hate, but apathy.
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