The Glass House
In the glass house the sun streamed through the sheets of clouds and turned the ceilings white.
In the glass house the plants reached toward the outside, wondering and worrying over the land of outdoors...having an appreciation and a disappointment at their permanent enclosed state.
In the glass house the plants mingle and intertwine so nobody knows who is who. Everyone wonders what it even means to exist as a single entity.
In the glass house the plants don't have eyes but if they did they'd close them tight and just enjoy the feel of the warmth, the coziness of a rainy day experienced in the safety of a glass enclosure.
In the glass house the flowers become the clouds.
The leaves grow fur. First a light fuzz, but someday they will grow more and more until all the plants are animals too.
The plants commiserate with each other through the glass window. They tell each other stories about life outside, and about life inside a glass house.
The plants in the glass house become extremely large. They might keep growing and growing until they are crouched and slouched and smooshed against the glass.
The glow of the pink flowers from within and out fills the chloroplast hearts of all the growing plants.
The moss grows blankets for all the plants to snuggle in and gently fall asleep.
The flowers become a glowing sun in the glass house.
The trees peer down into the glass house.
The big leaves hide everything underneath them. The world is underneath the giant leaves, hiding and turning and being the world.
The plants dress with pizzazz in the glass house.
The flowers glow like little stars in the morning sun.
The glass house lets the plants just be.
The flowers pretend to be dreams in the glass house.
The glass house is a fort for those that need a green sanctuary.
If only we could all move into the glass house and live wild and free with all the growing plants.