a polar vortex
births a trio of pink blossoms
on the old jade tree
Once a decade my old jade tree blooms. Crassula ovata, which hails from the wilds of South Africa, propagates readily from fallen branches or even a single leaf. One fat green coin fallen on soil will sprout roots within a month, generating a new plant. Apparently, flowering is not essential for reproduction of the "money tree."
On the magical occasions when my "lucky plant" chooses to blossom, pale pink blooms cover the elephant leg stems like bright stars among the shiny leaves. But this year, during a cold, dark, dry winter, a mere trio of white buds appeared at the top of the plant. They stayed closed for a week and then, after a roaring polar vortex sent frigid air streaming through hidden interstices in the house, the buds opened, revealing crowns and scepters.
Oddly, the middle bloom has but four pointy petals while its flanking companions bear the usual arrangement of five. I would not have noticed this anomaly if I had not been looking closely. I take it as a sign from my "friendship tree":
different forms
living side by side
spring from the same source
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