I think my neighbor is watering our herbs.

Scratch that. I know she is. There’s no other explanation. Those herbs should be dead thanks to our four black thumbs. And even when I do actually think to water to poor herbs on our front porch, I go out there and find that it has already been done.

I don’t know our neighbor very well. I know that she is Asian, an older single woman, and that she has a very thick accent. I know that she always says hello. I know that in the mornings, she stands on her porch and stares out at the pond and her yard. I know that she has a small yappy dog that has cancer, and that the cancer news did not change my feelings about wanting to drop kick the annoying thing. I know that she leaves her blinds open at night, and thusly I know that she has a meticulously neat home with a cross on the wall. And I know that she loves plants.

Scratch that. I know that she’s passionate about plants. She spends hours upon hours with the plants that fill the space between our homes. Our kitchen has two small windows through which I watch her water, prune, rotate, rotate again, replant, and admire. There are flowers, shrubs, a tree, some crazy exotic stuff– and everything is thriving. She is truly gifted with these plants.That’s why I think she took pity on mine.

Whether it’s her love for plants or her love for her neighbor that motivates her watering our poor herbs, I’m absolutely certain that it’s love. My neighbor loves me, and I’ve never even thought about loving her.

1 thought on “Neighborly

  1. Pingback: Being Neighborly « Here We Go

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