In the morning we trekked to Craig's apartment by the mountain with plant broaches in our pockets and our baritone uke and concertina snuggling in a guitar case.
When we got there the super nintendo of the building was trying to plunge Craig's toilette into submission, so we hung out a bit and ate cookies before getting started. The plants were a bit sad, it was true, in part due to their as-of-late perch on top of the radiator. We moved them to the table and added a polaroid of a sad plant sent from a far off friend. We gave Craig a typewriter, and he proceeded to write a love letter to his sad plants, clicking and dinging loosely in time to the music.
Amber tapped out tunes on glasses filled with water, the baritone uke rang out clear, and the concertina hummed mournfully.
We sang to the plants about the experience of being in a pot, discussing the possible ups and downs, but in the end coming to no conclusions, not wanting to preach to the small greens. We hope that by trying to sympathize honestly we made them feel a bit better.
Before we left we presented Craig and Paisley with plant broaches to wear as a means of showing camaraderie with and honoring their plants, hopefully encouraging them to grow green.