With a newfound sense of purpose, you take up the watering can, ready to indulge the green ones. The first arc of water seeps into the soil. The heady scent of wet soil heightens your protective, caring side.
This feeling is real, palpable. The feeder and the fed, for a few moments, share a communion. Regardless of your partner – gender immaterial in such matters of practicalities – reminding you that plants don’t need daily monsoons, just measured sips of hydration.
But the blissful pleasure of watering potted life has already challenged this logic. Just this ‘once’, you shall indulge the plants (read: yourself) – again. Inhaling the fresh scent of wet leaves and curated soil, you are momentarily lost, the urge to play with all five elements, and five senses, lingering, before the rest of the day claims you for itself.
