This exercise was fun. There’s no action or characters, it’s simply describing a place or a space. Enjoy!
It’s December. Frost clings to the glass, the contrast between inside and outside are as stark as night and day. Outside, things are brown, brittle, and fading; inside, it’s a small, green world holding onto life. We step through an old cedar door, stained glass set with pinks and blues blooming against the cold.
Here, a bag of soil sits under a half-used wooden shelf. Empty plastic containers, each about a quarter-cup, are scattered to the left, with stray soil spilling around them. There’s an old terracotta pot nearby, its lip chipped, and a white plastic chair tipped over with one leg missing. The heater hums, holding the space at a comfortable 65 degrees—a welcome refuge from the 30-degree chill outside.
Further down, an AM/FM radio rests with Don McLean’s greatest hits loaded in the tape deck, waiting for someone to press play. The path through the greenhouse forms a neat rectangle, centering around a wooden table where the plumeria and citrus trees sit under the watchful eye of red grow lights, now off. Their delicate branches wouldn’t stand a chance in the North Carolina winter outside.
Below the table, one plant that didn’t root well droops over the side like a bartender closing up after a long night. It’s a place where the tidy and untidy coexist—pots toppled over, empty and forgotten, alongside a rusty watering can that’s been well-used and loved.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 