🌿 A Little Lavender Lesson
A close friend gave me a pot of English lavender—a gift that felt like a small promise of calm in the middle of my busy days. I placed it outside, meaning to plant it properly soon. But life, as it does, swept me up in its current. Days passed. Then more. And I forgot.
It wasn’t until the rain came—day after day, soaking everything—that I noticed the lavender struggling. Its stems looked tired, its color faded. That’s when guilt crept in. I hadn’t meant to neglect it. I just... didn’t make time.
So I planted it right away, hoping the earth would cradle it better than the pot had. I knew I’d be away again soon, and the forecast promised more rain. Every morning since, I’ve stepped outside to check on it. I look for signs of life—new growth, a little perk in its posture. I whisper encouragement like it might hear me.
I’ve learned something simple but powerful: lavender doesn’t like to sit in water. It thrives in dry, well-drained soil, basking in sunlight. It’s resilient, yes—but only when we meet it halfway.
I’m hoping it forgives me. I’m hoping it survives. And I’m grateful for the quiet reminder it gave me: care delayed is still care, but nature doesn’t always wait.
