The Hamlet Project

During my most miserable time there, I had a dream about a plant. My plant was wilting and drying out in its home under the stairs, in the dark. I was doing my best to care for it but it was almost impossible in the environment it was in.
I knew I was like that plant, planted in the wrong place. I thought about cacti attempting to grow in rainforests and water lilies trying to grow in a desert.
So I shifted ground.
I’d believed that it shouldn’t matter where I was, I wanted to bloom wherever I was planted. I’d spent so many years uprooting myself, I thought I would do well to send some roots into the soil where I was, even though the soil wasn’t rich with my kind of nutrients.
So I shifted ground.
I thought in coming back to my home garden, the one where I’d bloomed so brightly years before, I would once again burst with growth, push forth brightly colored flowers, shoot green stalks skyward. Yet, this old familiar garden was crowded. There was no room to grow. Or perhaps whatever nutrients enriched this soil before had been depleted.
I am hesitant to shake this familiar dirt from my roots, afraid that all of these re-plantings will not serve me but ground that will not grow things must lie fallow sometimes and plants wanting to bloom again need the best light, the best water and the best ground. Shift now.