In my room, there is a large window that sits opposite my bed. Outside this window is a bundle of vines that like to wrap themselves over the fence of my garden. They entangle themselves gently amongst the rough wood of the fence as if to soothe it, relieve it of the pressure to protect the delicate plants of my garden.
Most of my fence is covered. The mahogany of the fence is difficult to spot, and almost painful to watch, as the little that is visible juts out against the soft green. Sometimes, I wonder if the fence feels suffocated.
The vines move closer to the garden, inching towards the flowers. I have been watching it for days. The vines move carefully, almost hesitant to get close to the flowers as if they believe it will hurt them. It will, but the hesitation doesn't mean they stop.
The daisies were the first to go. The vines crushed them softly. You can still see the white of the petals peeking through, they don’t appear dead. Perhaps the vines didn’t want to kill them, perhaps they didn’t realize the stems were delicate. Perhaps they didn’t care.
The sunflowers took two days. By the end of the first day, the vines had intricately wrapped around the stems, cupping the petals of the flower. It seemed almost as if they were trying to protect it.
They sent their best soldiers towards the tulips. That took three days. I could see they were growing ambitious, the other flowers still oblivious.
I watched as they moved over every inch of the garden. Daisies, sunflowers, tulips, begonias, daylilies, and even the little bushel of lilac that was sprouting from my windowsill.
They grew bored. The flowers would never fight back, and soon the joy of covering them was exhausted.
I watched as they climbed up the sides of my house, they looked delicate. They weren’t. They looked as if they were attempting to reinforce the walls of my house, like a shield. They weren't.I made the mistake of leaving my window open one night. The soft breeze was intoxicating, but the vines craved the warmth of my room. I could no longer close the window.
I was passive in this process, I didn’t mind them. The vines added beauty to the parts they covered, replacing the flowers with flowers of their own, little magenta ones to compliment the rich soft emerald.
I watched as they draped themselves over the walls, the desk, the clock, the chair, the sheet of paper on the desk, and the pen on the paper.
The vines are resilient, headstrong. They know exactly where to go, and how to get there.
As with all inhuman objects, communication is difficult. I believe this would make much more sense to everyone if the vines could simply just speak. If they could say aloud what it is they meant to do, why they were doing it, when they would stop.
Across the floor, over the shelves above my bed, over the little hanging plant that was strung up in the corner near my door. Over the doorknob. It looked as if they were consciously trying to ensure I wouldn’t escape.
Around the feet of the bed, over the sides, clutching at the bedspread.
Over the legs, molded around the feet, around the arms and the waist.
Every day, I would watch them move. Every day.
I make them sound malicious, but it was quite peaceful watching them. I imagined it was like a dance, like when your parents took you to ballet and you couldn’t exactly understand why they were moving the way they were, but it was beautiful.
Today, however, they seem tired. They appear lazy, unmoving, as if encumbered by their own weight. Their prickling pain is monotonous. All I could do is sit and watch them move. But they no longer wish to. Long mesmerized by their beauty, somehow paving their way into the crevices of my room but now settled into those of my mind. Two days of interrupted sleep could make one see things they would while dreaming, but today I felt I was getting closer to it. A good night's sleep, something I don't recall experiencing in a while.
Over the chest, making laps around the neck, tight over the mouth. A single vine wraps itself over my eyes, as I sit there, and imagine them grow.
Image Source- https://pin.it/5e2FS43lM
Citation- Baird, Beth. “Image of vines.” Pinterest, 28 May 2024, pin.it/5e2FS43lM.
Comments