What stays and what goes? or who? (and who decides?) The root above was deep in the ground below a 10 foot flowering bush that had stood by a neighbor's house for many generations. It was in the way of the new owner's need for a wider driveway. Chopped up and discarded in the brush at the end of the street near the commuter rail embankment, it continued to grow leaves long after it had been abandoned. We put it on a wagon and brought it home. Winter came and went. A year later it is growing new leaves still sitting above the ground behind my house.
An artifact of suburbia photographed in saturated afternoon shadows the root became symbolic of contained madness. Looked at one way, it maintained its plant identity- just a dug up thing. Looked at another and suddenly it was a being, with twisted feelings connected and disconnected to itself. It was both growing and cut off, empowered and disabled.
My own experiences of being on the periphery of contained madness makes it difficult to discard the root. I respect its ambiguity and its efforts to continue to bloom. We discussed planting it, wondering if it has any chance at all of becoming a flowering shrub again.