There may be no green stems, no unfurling leaves, no stretching out towards the sun, no fruit-bearing.
But that doesn't mean there is no life.
They are just sleeping.
And a waste of photosynthesis.
And a waste of transpiration. (Yes. I do know what transpiration is. Do you?)
Color out of season is draining on a plant.
(OK. The fact that I just typed that shriveled fruit sentence makes me laugh on the inside [LOitI]. The fact that I am leaving it ensures that my mother will call me tomorrow and revisit our conversation about sharing too much information [TMI] publicly.)
(The fact that I am making fun of over-used acronyms makes me hope my sister Amy reads this and appreciates it.)
(The fact that I used the word publicly makes me miss my sister Isabel.)
(The fact that I just alluded to a couple of inside jokes makes me wince.)
You are not dead yet.
Maybe it is just winter.
The long sleepy time for gardens.
The perfect time to recharge your mind.
Also the perfect time to cozy up with a cup of hot chocolate.
Or enjoy a bit of silliness.
Or indulge in a bit of over-reaching introspection and wordiness. (The pictures made me do it.)