She chose the deepest pink one and claimed it as her own; a delicate bloomed cyclamen with an abundance of buds. There amidst the terracotta pots we talked of plants' needs and the responsibility of providing them. She listened with much eager nodding and hops from one foot to the other. And so the purchase was made.
At home she declared the dining table the perfect spot. "Just the right amount of light" she said, and I couldn't argue that the energising pop of colour would be lovely at meal times. Every few days she thrusts her long fingers into the soil and cocks her head to the side as her skin detects the moisture levels. A small cut glass jug, her chosen watering vessel, providing the nourishment if needed. Some mornings she carts the small pot down the hallway to let her plant bask in the morning sun creeping in the back door; I hear her nattering away to the foliage. And from time to time she snips off the spent blooms to encourage flowering. All the while I watch her take greater steps out into the world; independence, responsibility and compassion.
Such deep lessons learnt from something so simple.