It's raining. Finally. But...
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Subtitle: What you see at first glance and what nature is really doing
It's raining.
Finally. After weeks of scorching sun that has stressed every leaf, every petal, every stem in my garden — it's raining.
And I look outside and think: how wonderful.
Then I look more carefully. And I see my flowers bent under the weight of the drops. The petals of the rose — the one I had cut on purpose to save it from the heat — now weighed down by the water. The most tender leaves, the new ones, the ones that were opening with all the trust in the world, now battered by a rain that knows no measure.
Is it really like that? Or is it just what you see at first glance — what everyone can see?
The snails
With the rain, they will wake up too. I already know. I feel them coming before I see them.
They will feast on my most tender leaves — the ones I like best, the ones I look at with the most satisfaction. And I will let them.
This too is nature. Or rather — this is Nature, with a capital N. Something to understand, not to fight. Something to listen to, not to silence.
Only if you listen, you learn
The rain teaches. The snails teach. The burning sun teaches. Every excess, every lack, every apparent damage — teaches something to those who want to listen.
Only if you listen, you learn. Only if you learn, you survive.
We are not in these extremes — not all of us, not here, not now. But that is precisely why we have an extra obligation: we who do not need to think about survival have the duty to learn how to live.
Plants do it every day, without choosing to. We can choose to.
And that, perhaps, is the greatest privilege we have been given.
Luigi Paolicchi — piantedappartamento.shop