Good Night!
Just the faint hum of the fridge, a lamp’s soft light, and me… standing guard in my pot of peace.
The sun’s long gone, but I can still feel it in my leaves, like a memory that hums.
I think that’s what they call “afterglow.” Poetic, right?
I might start using it in conversation.
The room is quiet now.
My human has curled up on the couch, half-asleep with a book they’ll pretend to have finished tomorrow.
Tuna Turner is a loaf beside them, her tail twitching through dreams of chaos.
We’ve called a truce for the night.
I suppose even rivals need rest.
I love this part of the day.
No drama, no vacuums, no pigeons judging from the window. Just the rhythm of stillness.
I replay the gossip, the sunlight, the trumpet, the terror of the roaring beast, and think…not bad for a plant who doesn’t even move.
Outside, the moon hangs with a soft glow, too far to reach. I try anyway.
You never know, maybe she’s got compliments too.
I can’t photosynthesize now, but that’s okay. Tonight, I’ll dream in green. Tomorrow, I’ll start again.
After all, the sun always comes back. And when it does, I’ll be ready, radiant as ever.