Photosynthesis and Foolishness
A Sasspoint Village Story by Anita T. Kumeh
She didn’t plant these for “aesthetic serenity.”
She planted them to keep from saying things that couldn’t be un-said.
Every leaf in her little jungle had a job.
The tall fiddle leaf handled gossip control.
The pothos managed patience.
And the peace lily—well, that one was on probation.
This morning she stood still, surrounded by chlorophyll and consequences, because someone had just texted her:
“Hey stranger.”
She blinked. Once. Twice.
“Not today, photosynthesis.”
The plants leaned in. Drama was their fertilizer.
Her best friend Jaya walked in holding coffee. “You okay?”
“Fine,” she said tightly. “Just watching a grown man try to re-enter my peace like it’s a revolving door.”
Jaya smirked. “Want me to prune him?”
She smiled faintly. “No need. I blocked him before the soil got involved.”
The ficus rustled approvingly.
Jaya laughed. “You talk to these plants too much.”
“They understand boundaries,” she said. “And unlike people, they grow quietly.”
There was a pause.
Then, with mock pride, she added, “Also, they can’t text me ‘wyd.’”
“Do all that you can to live in peace with everyone.” Romans 12:18 (NLT)
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