The Artist gave me a pot of purple leaf shamrock during her last visit. I put it on the coffee table in the middle of my living room, where it opens during the day, when the sun is out, then closes slowly in the evening.

I’m notoriously hard on plants, and the only ones I have kept alive to date are hardy things that have survived months of relative neglect. The purple leaf shamrock is a little different; it gives me immediate feedback if I don’t give it the water and sunlight that it needs. At night, it closes to rest, and as I recently read, it is likely to go dormant for a period of time, during which I should move it to a dark place and allow its leaves to fall off, knowing it will come back when it’s ready.

After months and months of frantic pace, the purple shamrock reminds me that everything has a natural rhythm. I’d be a little lost without its gentle reminders that nothing is open and productive all the time, to give myself what’s necessary, to rest when it’s time.

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