Ode to a plant

I buried my plant today.
Well, actually, I yanked it out of its pot and threw the plant and dirt into a snow-covered field behind my apartment building. I figure it's better there than throwing it into the garbage. It can just decompose in nature -- dust to dust and all.
So it was sort of like a burial, but without all the digging and ceremony.

My plant and I weren't all that close. I never named it, like some friends I have do. I never talked to it or played it classical music to help it grow. But, more often than not, I watered it and tried to take care of it. And the plant, in return, bloomed nice, red flowers; gave my deck a splash of color; and came back from the brink of death more than once.

We met in the Wal-Mart garden center.
I had gone there one nice spring day (spring being June in Duluth). I had been hesitant about buying a plant. I wasn't sure I was ready for that level of commitment. Would I really remember to water it every other day? Did I have the time to pay it the attention that it would need? Maybe I should go with a starter plant -- like a cactus. But no, I decided to face my fears and give it a shot. Better to find out that I was incapable of taking care of a living thing by accidentally killing a plant than, say, a puppy.
I looked around at all the different kinds. I knew I needed a plant that would be OK in direct sunshine in the morning, but then shade for most of the rest of the day. (The balcony faces east.) Past that, I had no idea. I walked up and down the aisles, checking out the prospects. Some were pretty, others had not only been hit by the ugly stick, they WERE the ugly stick.

Then, I met my matchmaker.
She was probably in her 60s and seemed to have sensed my confusion. She asked what I was looking for. I explained as best I could -- a plant. Something with flowers maybe. She took pity on me and, after asking a few other pertinent questions, began hunting around, checking out various plants. There was much hemming and hawing; clearly, she wanted just the right plant for me. I think I reminded her of her adult son, for whom she was shopping for a plant. Apparently, he was about as knowledgeable as I. Finally, she found it. It was a geranium with red flowers. It hadn't yet hit its peak, and she knew that it would be absolutely beautiful once it did. She handed it to me proudly and I accepted, thanking her profusely for her help. She gave me some tips on how to take care of my newfound companion and I took it home.

Thus began a relationship that would last the rest of the summer (the length of July, in Duluth) and most of the fall.
Surprisingly, I actually did remember to water it every other day. Well, most of the time. There were occasionally times when I would forget and it would be three or four days, but the plant never complained. Once, I forgot to water it for about a week or a little more and it started to die, but after I started watering it again, it sprang back to life. Another time, an early chill nearly killed it, but again, it persevered and survived. I would like to think these struggles tested our relationship and made it stronger.

But it's gone now, killed for good by the first frost several weeks ago.
I do not mourn. I know it's in a better place.
Well, I guess laying in the field in the cold isn't really a better place. But whatever.

Will I get another plant? Eventually, maybe. But I know it won't be the same. Unless I get another geranium, in which case, maybe it will be the same.
But first, I need time.
And I have to wait for summer anyhow.