My Christmas cactuses are in bloom, a little off-kilter as usual.
They are free spirits, both of them, blithely heedless of the calendar, obeying inner rhythms only they can feel. Swayed by the temperature, the light, water and green plant food, how often I pay attention to them during the course of the year, what music or what cooking odors come their way, traumas and tenderness—like any living thing.
This one, at work, is usually finest around April, in a second blooming. We'll see what happens this year.
image: Christie B. Cochrell, Christmas Cactus (Pink)
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