Red Spider Lily

Urn Plant

I just discovered (was shown) that you can tap i under a photo of a plant and it will give you the name.

That’s how I learned that this exotic display

is an Urn Plant.

And this delicate beauty

is a Red Spider Plant.

Looks snow white to me.

So, what difference does identifying and admiring blooms while the world and our nation are in turmoil?

What it does is alter my focus from the seeming madness our species is igniting, sometimes looking to be lending to our own extinction, to neighboring species who are flourishing, even while the planet’s climate presents new challenges.

How do they adapt? Might we learn from them?

I want to know their names. To call on them. Acknowledge them, not only as fellow dwellers on this fragile planet, but as longer lasting and more successful than we have shown ourselves to be.

The end and beginning of years is a conceit we have evolved, largely as a means to organize our unruly lives so we don’t spin off into chaos.

The Red Spider and Urn have no need of such a thing. They, like our ancient ancestors, organize themselves around the seasons, the movement of the sun, the tilt of the earth.

Is it too late for us to face the reality that trying to settle ourselves around weapons and competition has brought us to this point at which we despair of finding peace?

Has our narcissism blinded us to the inevitable end of giving license to ego’s insistence that my well-being depends on holding sham authority to determine your well-being?

The seasons and the generous earth have given birth to us, as to every living thing around us. If we can learn from them how to honor and observe the source of our being, perhaps we might extend our tenure.

Thank you, Red Spider Plant and Urn Plant.