Personal Narrative: My Grandmother's Croton

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I remember my grandmother's Croton plant standing in front of her bedroom window. Like a colourful, constant companion, it created a welcoming atmosphere that never waned no matter the weather outside. My grandmother has always been a nurturer, a gardener of souls. Her plants have been like children to her and when she moved to a senior’s residence, some of those plants came our way.
I had always been intrigued by the Croton’s long, spiralled leaves, coloured with not only green, but bright yellows and reds. It was a bold statement that seemed to attract the attention of anyone who entered the room, and was always able to start a friendly conversation.
Crotons are not the easiest of house plants to care for, so when my mother picked up the
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I’d never seen flowers like it before - they almost resembled little fireworks shooting upwards off of the main stem. They were soft to the touch and seemed like something from a magical fairy garden.
The Croton has been with my family throughout our laughter, excitement, and tears. It holds a priceless tranquility. The house wouldn’t seem the same without it. I would miss watching the leaves bob up and down as if in a dance when the summer breeze wafts over them from an open window. I would miss the sense of tranquility it brings and the sight of new shoots, growing with such determination. It has stayed so uniquely beautiful throughout the years, and has even grown stronger. When I look at the way the sun shines through the leaves, creating intricate shadow patterns on the floor, it makes me think. It takes me back to when I was little, standing in the warm sunlight beside my grandmother, looking at all the plants. I remember happily running back and forth across her apartment with glasses of water, carefully pouring the water into the plants, and listening to my grandmother explain where each plant came from. Looking at the Croton always makes me
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