I love mail. Real mail, carried by person or pony or robot, I don’t care — if it started at you and got to me, I’m over the moon. Yesterday I opened a hand-addressed envelope and (expecting invitation/thank you/congratulations on an award I have yet to receive?) I found a little packet of seeds from a sensitive plant.
This is a real plant. Not like, a particularly sensitive plant. (Though it is sensitive.) But it’s called a sensitive plant. And its delicate fern-like leaves close up with you touch them. They clench right up, like potato bugs do, but more taco-style (too many descriptors? do you get it? They just gently say “I’ve had enough of you” and both sides fold inwards.)
So Eliina sent me sensitive plant seeds. She had a plant like this in college and I have wanted one since, a moody, romantic, easily flustered plant. I bought one with Mark in Virginia once, at Monticello, but it was too sensitive and died. I’m going to see if I can grow one from scratch this time (like a cake? can you grow things from scratch? from seed.) and then we’ll see if it’s meant for this world.