abandoned in the alley

My former roommate, Patrick, and I found a pot with dead sticks poking out of a pile of trash in the alleyway. Patrick looked at the tag identifying this seemingly dead plant, and recognized it as a keeper - something worth nurturing back to health. He had an eye for ornamental plants, whereas my inclination is for an eatable garden.















Since that dreary winter day, the plant has sprung back to life. Patrick is on his way back to upstate New York to be with his family while he undergoes chemotherapy through the next year. He's the same age as me - let's say, not-yet-30. He is a solider of fire and reminds me of Shiva like that - and he is waging war with his body.

Who is handsome, who is an axe to the tree of the universe,
To the One with a terrifying face.
-Liṅga Purāṇa I.32.3-

When I met Patrick he was preparing to go back to South Dakota for his annual conservation work in starting controlled fires. There was a spark in his eye that told me he thrived on the exhilaration of it all. He loved land and nature by burning it, pushing it to it's breaking point before it turned on you. So he knows what he's about to do to his body with chemotherapy.

Every flower from this plant is the color of hope and the green of the leaves are strength and love that will see him through.
This is a picture of survival - the plant left for death in the alleyway and the man who saw hope.