Tomorrow, when the lighting is better, I will share pictures of our new and much, much, much improved, green kitchen.

In the meantime, I am sitting on the front porch, in the lull between storms, waiting for my husband, to return from hunting groceries at the market down the street.

I keep company with a potted plant left behind by the last owners of our house.

Relegated to the back step when they left, I brought her inside. Re-potted her in store bought soil, a second hand pot. Placed her on the kitchen island, where she got equal amounts of sunlight and shade. Where I could feel connected to nature while I cooked and chopped and sautéed others of her kind.

Where half wild cats returned to their half wild roots; became feral at the scent of dirt and soil in their Pine Sol scented Serengeti.

Nipped the edges of her leaves. Left puncture marks, and shredded edges proof of their conquest, their venture into “the wild.”

Where half wild dogs disapproved of the antics of half wild cats. Set themselves to barking and howling and attempting to restore order. To set themselves apart as superior even though they could not reach the counter.

Moved to the table on the front porch, for her own protection, she is one step closer to wild as she strains in the breeze, catches the upcoming storm in her leaves, loosens her grip on potted soil and arches to meet the rain.