Bamboo

taurusingemini

Nov 23

How strong, the forces that pulls the living things toward life is, how the plants, the animals and basically all living organisms, are driven by the, survival, instincts…translated…

Someone gifted me with a stick of bamboo to plant.

Just one, slender, long, a gentle-looking, stick of bamboo.

Like if the wind that came a bit stronger, then it would get, root up, so tiny, so thin, so, slender, a stick of, bamboo.

"I'd found it when I was hiking up a trail."

It, came from, the mountains, it may have been found by its owner, at the weeds by a bamboo forest up in the mountains, and, and another got to its owners hand, it was, a slender, long, gentle stemmed with the leaves, the Chinese lantern flower, with the entangled roots caught up in a total mess, looked like the leaves, the stems aren't that healthy, tangled together, looked like a young sapling that's, destined to be, wild, without the soil that it'd grown from for protection, the roots showing, drying up, with the branches, the leaves, all, looking, weakened.

the photo of the bamboo by the writer, courtesy of UDN.com

I'd found a glass plate from the windowsills, the old plates and old things, I can no longer remember, their original, purpose, but, patting it with the soil, with the water, it still became, something very romantic, to plant the bamboo on top.

And, it seemed, that the gentle breeze came, and wandered at that corner of my window, refusing to, leave.

The leaves that are not yet extended, still curled up, were propped up by the soft, long, slender stems, then, became taller and bent, into a tiny elegant, poem, swaying gentle in the wind, singing on.

Comparing to other potted plants on my windowsill, this elegant poem seemed to, have that scent of, wilderness to it, with the stages for the wind's that came to sing the songs, while I'd prayed hard, that it could, adapt to living in the cities, in the shallow plates and not enough soil, with only the minimal provisions of, water.

Actually, I'd begun, worrying over it, the bamboo was once wild in the mountains, untamed, and, how will this, shallow plate be able to contain that wilderness in it?

"Are you sure it's going to work, planting the bamboo in this shallow a dish?", my wife asked.

The gentle winds of autumn sung low on the windowsills, wandering, I'd, temporarily moved the bamboo on top of the shelves inside my windows, there's the screens that allowed for the light to pass through, in just the, right, amounts.

Never planted bamboos before, but I'd liked it very much.

The years now had that, poeticism, that imagery to it now too.

So, this is like having a child, you worried that the child won't survive, but, s/he had, because s/he had the strong life forces to survive, and that's just how it is with all things living, you give them the space, and the bare minimum necessities, then it will, grow tall and, strong.