plants don't talk

My boss is in the corner ruthlessly hacking leaves from the jungle-looking plant that graces our office. She talks to it tenderly like it's a living thing--okay, it is a living thing, but it can't hear you, woman! Oh well, it's an excusable habit, I suppose. Lots of people talk to their plants. She then turns to me smiling eerily and says that sometimes it talks back to her. Okaaaay...that's not quite as excusable (maybe the plant told her to rip its leaves maliciously from its branches). Finally she leaves and I look at the plant hopefully--a talking plant could make me a lot of money. But the thing never says anything, dang it. I'm shocked.

Why do we even have a stupid plant in our office anyway? Why do people put plants in their houses/offices at all? It doesn't make any sense. It takes hundreds of thousands of dollars and countless hours of the hardest human labor to get away from them--hammers pounding, saws buzzing, sweat dripping, the scrape of concrete on concrete and the rumbling of machinery. In the end it's all worth it, though, because we, the people of this planet, have successfully blocked out all of nature's ills--no more needy plants, dirt and bugs, or long hot nights--and created a home of solid brick (or whatever material you happen to prefer). Yes, inside the four walls tirelessly created we can truly make a home, complete with every comfort a person could ever desire.

No more sleeping on dirt under the boughs of a tree for shelter like our ridiculous ancestors, or maybe like those idiot animals out in the yard. We know better. We know we are above such things. We fill the empty space with furniture, soft and luxurious, and line the freshly painted walls with pictures of ourselves and our families (no, we're not vain). We block out the sunlight with lovely silk curtains, get shiny new appliances in the kitchen, and plush new carpet on the floors. Ah, we people know what makes us happy.

After hours of decorating, we stand in the middle of our newly created habitat, and frown as we look around and are unable to shake the feeling that something is missing. Something is not quite right. We look at the room from different perspectives and move the furniture around, but something extra is still needed. As we stare at the empty spot in the corner, at last we have that Aha! moment when inspiration strikes.

We drive to the Home Depot and pick up a potted plant with pretty leaves and vibrant greens, or maybe an exotic bamboo, and put it right in the corner. Ah, that's better. We start to long for smooth, rich oak beneath our feet rather than carpet, and then hang pictures of beautiful landscapes on the wall. We then draw the curtains and open the windows and hope for breezes, begging the outside world to please come in.

My, we are fickle creatures. Inside or out, what do we want? The best of both worlds, I suppose. And there's nothing wrong with that, really. I've never been much of a plant person, but any kind of flowers are always aces in my book. Something deep down inside of every human being misses the outside world of nature when we block it all out. I guess maybe our true genious isn't our escape from nature, but the balance we achieve when we have a little of both inside and out.