Off my right shoulder in the den where our computer sits is a large stereo speaker from the 1970s with a planter of craggy poinsettias perched on top. There are three plants in the container, all refugees from past Christmases. In the summer, the planter sits in a protected corner of our deck. It comes inside for cold weather from late fall to late spring.
To see them now, you have to wonder why the failing plants are in the house at all, why they were not left at the curb with yard waste several weeks ago with the rest of the withered annuals that had lost their beauty to the frost. But as I pick the dried leaves off the floor and watch the branches become barer week by week, I know this is not the sole existence of this poinsettia trio. As I predict to my husband each winter, tiny new leaves will appear in the spring and by summer the pot will again house lush bushes. The plants may not produce their once-gorgeous red blossoms, but there is still a lot of life there.
We all go through seasons like that. Sometimes we droop and struggle to get through the day. Then we grow stronger and thrive. I'm OK with being a little droopy now and looking forward to better days to come.
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