The Plant in the Shiny Brown Pot (An American Thanksgiving Day Parable)

Once there was a plant.

The plant lived in a shiny brown pot on a glass coffee table in a family room not far from where you live.

The plant had a family of people who cared for it and sat with it on evenings and weekends watching television and playing games. The plant had a few plant friends as well: A cactus on the mantle, an African violet on a side table, and a potted ficus on the floor. They didn't talk much, but they took comfort in each other's company.

The plant's life was orderly and predictable and that's the way it liked it.

That's not to say that every day was exactly the same. There were times when a family member would spend an unexpected day at home, lying on the couch under a blanket. And other times when somebody would forget to open the blinds in the morning, shutting out the daylight longer than the plant wanted. And there were weeks when everybody would just stay home. And other weeks where no one would be around except a stranger who would come in once a day to care for the plants. But on the whole, things went as they should.

The plant's favourite time of day was late afternoon. That's when the family would one-by-one return home, the sun would be shining into the family room at just the right angle, and the plant would be given a cool, refreshing drink of water. The other plants never talked about it, but the plant knew they loved the late afternoon too; there was an air of contentment that would descend on the family room each day at that time.

Once a month, cleaning people would come into the house when the rest of the family was out. They'd dust the coffee table and the side table, wipe the mantle, and vacuum the floor. It was an exciting day for all of the plants because the cleaning people would move them to the side for a few minutes while they cleaned the surface they usually occupied, and then carefully move them back to where they were. Sometimes, they would even wipe their leaves and their pots.

One day the house exploded and the plant was lifted high into the sky on a wave of blistering heat.

In the few moments that its flight lasted, the plant saw many houses and cars and people it had never seen before, a distant forest, a park, a glass house full of other plants, and a vast sky that stretched over everything. It was scared, but it was also exhilarated to discover so much of the world around it.

Alas, the brief flight came to a painful end, the plant's pot shattered, all but a small portion of its precious soil was lost, and the plant lay on its side, cushioned only by a carpet of brown grass and fallen leaves and the soil beneath it. None of its plant friends were anywhere to be seen.

Then it started to lightly snow.

As the plant lay there, it was surprisingly content. It thought about all the days that the house had not exploded. It thought about the family who had cared for it for so long and the comfort of the other plants' silent companionship. It thought about how shiny its pot had been. It thought about the joy of late afternoons, the cool refreshing water it had so enjoyed, and the occasional tender cleansing wipe it received.  And it thought about how lucky it had been to see so much of the world, even if it was only for a moment. It quietly gave thanks for all of those things, and for having landed in such a nice place.

The End.

(Epilogue: Authorities would later determine that the house exploded because one of the cleaning people had accidentally turned on the gas stove while cleaning it and hadn't noticed the resulting leak. Fortunately, they had safely finished their cleaning and left the house before the explosion. The family was also spared because the explosion happened before they returned home for the day. Their insurance enabled them to quickly relocate and get back on their feet. They bought an electric stove for their new house and did all their own cleaning. Their prized houseplants were never recovered, so they bought some new ones).