My New Celebrity

It is strange that the plant doesn't seem to treat me differently, with a certain reverence. That the attention it demands hasn't diminished. That the sun and the rain still make it happy or sad. That the dirt, the stems, the flowers, the buds all seem remarkably as they did yesterday.

And the words that I type don't elevate magically. The pedantic, mundane, uninspiring phrases still remain glued to my fingertips. The majestic remains well beyond my grasp.

The plane still soars in the sky and disappears. The clouds still dot the horizon, creating their ever changing painting. The buildings, in their early slumber, still barely open their eyes. The boats remain moored on the water, waiting to be unleashed.

It is funny how remarkably the same the world appears today. It seems it has not gotten word of my new celebrity.