I have made them aliens. I have made them guardians, made them victims, ecosystems, martyrs, and symbols of my own inadequacy. Today feels simple. I see them partly in shade, one shimmery limb still outstretched into the sun. I see the gossamer anchor lines of spiders trailing in the slight breeze. Near the base of both plants bright green new growth is contrasted against brown and shabby old wounds. The wounded leaves won't heal, they’ll just be discarded and replaced. I see fruit and fecundity and the promise of a fertile future bedded in a beautiful mind.