Among so many other things in life, I cannot control this little orchid. It blooms and blooms, year after year—sometimes in summer, sometimes in March, sometimes right now. I hardly water it. I can’t make anything happen when it comes to this orchid. It obeys some other voice that tells it when to bloom and how.
Among other things, the orchid reminds me that I live in mystery, that I control nothing, and that things that should bloom one day will. I just have very little to do with it all.
