29 April 2009
life on the windowsill
One of my cubicle neighbors has a plant. Maybe it is some sort of violet. It sits in a pretty flower pot on the third floor windowsill of our shiny suburban office building. Separated from the outside world by a double-paned window and a thin layer of executive tint, the plant lives a life of relative safety.
Earlier this week, as rain poured from the sky, I couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for the plant. Buckets and bathtubs full of life-giving rain soaked the earth and everything springing from it. And this little plant was missing out completely. Sure, it’ll get a splash of water here and there and maybe someone’s cold morning coffee. It might snatch a ray of sunlight through that tinted glass every now and then. But the true exhilaration of thunder and wind will never be known; the warmth of the morning sun will never be felt – not on this side of the window anyway.
Maybe safety and predictability of life on the windowsill is not the most glorious destiny for this little violet.
As I stare at the rain rolling down the glass, at the violet stretching ever closer in its attempts to get just a meager glimpse of the outside world, I wonder…
…how many of us live perched on such windowsills?