It’s been almost a year since I bought the Shamrock plant in honor of St. Patrick’s Day. Every year in February, you can find them in the grocery store—their bright green leaves like three-leaf clovers—with maybe a fourth leaf for good luck.
And the best thing about these plants is their mysterious habit of closing up their leaves each night, like hands praying. The Shamrock also comes in a deep purple color which is my favorite.
Now, however, my plant has long straggly stems and sparse foliage. Like other seasonal blooms, it’s not designed to last, and I set it beside the back door on its way to the trash. Then I notice tiny new leaves pushing up through the dirt and I hesitate.
What do I owe this plant? What does it owe me? Foolish questions, but I ask them. I’ve given the Shamrock a place in the window, regular watering, and protection from the cat.
As for the Shamrock, it’s given me everything it has—the dark purple leaves with streaks of violet, its tiny white blossoms, the evening prayers.
In exchange for this abundance, perhaps I owe the Shamrock one more thing: Time. A little more time. I put it back in the window.
