The Orchid Lost Its Last Bloom

Another Mother’s Day orchid bites the dust

The fourth leaf was still there when I took this photo. It fell off immediately after. A. Cowen 2024

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As I explained in a recent post, I will be writing some shorter, less polished pieces and tucking them in separately. I won’t be sending these in email, but these will be mentioned in the weekly Sunday posts. These pieces, largely falling within a section I am wallpapering with various posts, fragments, reflections, and wandering as I navigate the recent loss of my spouse will be paywalled. All of my writing is personal, but I think for now this section focused on loss will largely be private. I am gathering my bearings in the only way I know how, by writing my way through it, twisting scraps and fodder into piles, bundling up some details that maybe will be part of the warp as I prepare, later, to weave. That only a few people will see them is okay.

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Two Sticks and a Bow

I was moving my journal into the little rectangle of purple that offers the clearest space for taking a photo to go along with my recent post on Venn diagrams and the green plastic circle template. 

I scooted pencils and scissors and watercolor, pills and eye drops, a remote and a tiny wrench, out of the way. 

Reaching to lift the orchid and shift it farther onto the table, I realized it was sitting there bare and empty, just two lonely branches rising into the air. 

I drew my breath in at its nakedness, a phantom chill blowing through the room. 

The final bloom had fallen. 

There it was, tucked in the pot itself, a bit of lavender, still soft but crumpled, against the green. 

I have killed many plants. Many plants have died off under my care.