My mother's spider plant was a monster that knew no bounds. It grew like rich forest soil was at its feet instead of an aging white plastic pot that had no place in modern decor. The plant with its elongated, stripy leaves took up the width of a cupboard and trailed from near the ceiling to almost the floor. To stop it from tumbling down I had to anchor it with string and nails. Still mom waters it with extra plant food. Sometimes I wonder if we'll wake to find it's the new boss of the house, that it's tired of its passive-plant-act. But every morning there it is, a quietly taking over the kitchen one new leaf at a time.
The house plant was bought at some huge warehouse store a year or so ago. That fact that it's still living is a testimony to the tenacity of life rather than my green thumbs. Were it not for my five year old dumping the odd cup of water in it's other wise parched soil I'm sure it would already be brown. As it is the plant is teetering between this life and being compost. The lower leaves are dying but the top is still forming new leaves, shiny and small. A few brilliant green shoots are coming from the soil too, perhaps they come from the stressed out roots, I can almost imagine them growing nodules under the soil.
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