Evening, 218
Sharon was flopped on her belly on the floor. Her plant was (not to be pedantic) planted on the floor a mere seven inches from her head. She had her chin propped on her crossed hands, her arms on the floor.
And she was fascinatedly watching the plant to see if she could actually watch it growing.
She'd been doing this for hours, Cylons have great patience, y'know at least ten minutes. And so far, she'd seen nothing. No movement, no growing. Unlike those films of stop-motion growth, her plant was merely stopped.
"This could be pointless," She said abruptly. "Useless, ridiculous, particularly positively peripatetically --" she stopped and giggled.
Lifting her head and taking a breath, she declaimed, "An Ode to a Non-Growing Member of the Genus Plantae."
O plant, thou art
not sick, no, but
In colour, thine movement
is but Green and
Thy weft is full
and Vibrant
Yet
No growing do you do
Not for a ducat,
a deuce, a duck
not for a thousand
seconds
yet
I watch, and wait,
peering and hoping
That one day,
thy may bless
mine sight with the
'Splosion
of
Blossoms
It was quite possible that the plant actually wilted during Sharon's spur-of-the-moment recitation.
But she took no notice.
[This is the second Sharon post I've been inspired to write whilst driving up to a specific stoplight on the way home from work. Both times, I've grabbed something to write on and the pen in the cup holder to jot notes down....]
And she was fascinatedly watching the plant to see if she could actually watch it growing.
She'd been doing this for hours, Cylons have great patience, y'know at least ten minutes. And so far, she'd seen nothing. No movement, no growing. Unlike those films of stop-motion growth, her plant was merely stopped.
"This could be pointless," She said abruptly. "Useless, ridiculous, particularly positively peripatetically --" she stopped and giggled.
Lifting her head and taking a breath, she declaimed, "An Ode to a Non-Growing Member of the Genus Plantae."
O plant, thou art
not sick, no, but
In colour, thine movement
is but Green and
Thy weft is full
and Vibrant
Yet
No growing do you do
Not for a ducat,
a deuce, a duck
not for a thousand
seconds
yet
I watch, and wait,
peering and hoping
That one day,
thy may bless
mine sight with the
'Splosion
of
Blossoms
It was quite possible that the plant actually wilted during Sharon's spur-of-the-moment recitation.
But she took no notice.
[This is the second Sharon post I've been inspired to write whilst driving up to a specific stoplight on the way home from work. Both times, I've grabbed something to write on and the pen in the cup holder to jot notes down....]