Long live the fakus

I love growing things. I love trees and flowers and plants.
From a distance.
I am sorry to admit that living things that are unable to feed and water themselves are better off without my care. Plants sent to my home ought to kiss their friends and relatives goodbye. I have in my possession one stubborn little tree/bush thing that has survived since mid-December....sorry, I felt guilty writing about it when I hadn't watered it since....the eighties? I don't remember. It should be good for another month now, though.
So, without a green thumb to my name you would think my apartment would be a sad place with nary a plant. But you would be partially wrong!
My tree/bush has one stalwart companion. A ficus. Or, more accurately a fake ficus--a fakus, as we dotingly call it--that has weathered the years without so much as a single drop of water. Season after season it merrily sports fairy lights, and at Christmas a few ornaments, and brings green into my world. While it's not actually life, it's a very close approximation.
So, today I'm grateful for my fakus. With the windows open and the sweet chirp of birds wafting through, I can sit by the fakus and feel just a little bit earthy. And for a city girl on a Wednesday afternoon, that's just about perfect.