I am but a small flower that sits on a window sill above the kitchen sink. It’s a safe existence, and one that I am sure brings happiness to those who approach. I get my daily sun through the panes of the small bay window. Every few days, I receive my water when the dishes are done. My little red clay pot is cozy, though large enough that I desire another with which to share this space. But I stay content. For I only have a short time before I might wither and the cycle begins anew.