Houseplant. A short story, a playlist, and an exercise in abstraction.

Daniel Thomas Williams @danielthomaswilliams

The following is a short story I wrote one morning to accompany a playlist I had recently made. Unintentionally, this became an exercise in imagining a future for myself. A future where I was content. I was able to spend a morning manifesting a vision that I had not previously had for myself. In this brief window, I was able to escape my normal mode of thinking that would typically be shackled by a restrictive view on reality. Somehow I managed to allowed myself the time away from the bizarre and terrible current events on the other side of my window and across the globe. I hope that in reading this story you may find an escape (if only for the five minutes it will take to reach the end) and consider taking a trip to your future two or three decades from now. I hope that you can see a world you want to live in. And I hope that when we are allowed back out, on the other side of our windows, we can find a way to make this world one that these futures can exist in. - DTW

Where once there was a backyard a greenhouse bridges the gap from one fence to the other. Handmade, the oversights and mistakes are casually blended into the modest design with carefully considered repairs.

Upon your arrival an accommodating humidity takes your jacket and hangs it by the door. Under transparent canopy, the early morning light filters down through the glistening leaves of vines. Panning a gaze over the greenery you notice a pair of clogs, bordering on slippers, hiding behind a bouquet of Golden Pothos. Mist dances out either side, left then right, back and forth, and slowly cascades to the lava rock bed below.

Over the deep blue and white Mexican Talavera tile the aforementioned footwear shuffles out from behind the photosynthetic curtain and reveals an older gentleman quite unaware of your arrival. Swimshorts hidden away behind an apron, he gradually comes around to noticing you and in an immediate display of recognition, a cheeky smile blooms.

In an odd cinematic sensation - subtitles cross fade quickly into view, the same yellow (somewhere between canary and dijon with an attractive fade) as the gentleman’s short sleeve button up.

“Thirty to forty years from now, more or less” the titles read, however there is no mention of location.

“Can I make you an omelette?”

He offers in a tone that, were the two of you any less familiar, might be misinterpreted as an empty gesture. However, well aware that the egg cookery on offer is completely genuine you politely decline, having just ate.

“Maybe something to drink?”

He motions to the handsome wooden bar tucked under the leaves of a tastefully pruned Weeping Fig and stocked with a small collection of herbal mixtures. It’s evident he has a bit of a thing for liquorice root and it comes as no surprise. Pointing to a small nondescript misting bottle (not unlike Binaca,) “That’s a cocktail I was given at one of Michael Bublé’s parties,” he explains. He’s been telling people that line for so long now (yourself included) he can no longer remember if it’s a joke or not.

After briefly considering your options you settle on a lemon and black tea soda that’s been sweetened with just a hint of agave. He insists it’s called an Arnold Palmtree and you offer no resistance.

The two of you take a seat together in chairs of vaguely mid-century appeal. For the sake of the leather he keeps them indoors but brings them out to the greenhouse when the mood strikes him.

He brought two out this morning. Curiously, he knew you would stop by.

Alongside the terra cotta potted tobacco plants grows a single Indica “just for the aroma,” he extends in exhalation and without being questioned.

Ceiling fans quietly whisper above you. The two of you watch the nearly imperceptible breeze dance in the hammock he brought home from “Mérida, was it? Well, the Yucatán, anyways.”

Between you is shared a mutually agreeable and highly enjoyed silence, breaking it only to make each other laugh. Songbirds sing all around.

Houseplant: Sunshine through a Window on Spotify.