A little black bug as tiny as a sesame seed often hovers over the pages in the lamplight when I read. A bug from my potted plants, it's as pitiful as the morning mushroom of Chuang-tse's fable that dies before the month is out, so I simply blow it away with a light puff of breath instead of flicking it with my finger, lest I harm its feeble claim to life with too much force. But the warmth of the lamp draws it back again; I can't help feeling it's in the way. Then I think again: A little bug ought to be free to enjoy the warmth of the lamplight, too. Nor is this space mine and mine alone. Wouldn't it be selfish of me to drive it away? I closely watch the nonchalant way it flies about with spread-out wings or lands and crawls on the paper--really, it's very loveable. True it is that "in the meanest things lie lessons for us all." I share with it a carefree insouciance.

In nature, not only insects that crawl, not only dogs that bark or cats that meow, even trees, even the least blade of grass has a thriving vitality of its own. Many of the potted plants in my room are verdant year round. Whenever I bend down to water them, they seem to nod and smile, wafting me their gentle fragrances. I can't resist touching their delicate, tender green leaves, sensing the deep joy of communing with the vegetative world.

I remember the loving heart my son revealed in his naivete when he was little. When he saw a flower in bloom, he would lightly touch one of the petals and then draw back his little finger and say, "Don't pick it. You'll hurt it." Whenever he saw ants moving a crumb across the floor, he would crouch down to watch and protect them. "Hurry along," he would lisp, "hurry home to see your mother." His childish concern was touching. When he was in elementary school, whenever he saw a stray kitten or puppy by the roadside he would carry it home and ask me to take care of it. Shamefully, I was in no position to take in pets, busy as I was with my work. All I could do was gently explain why. He would nod quietly and be crestfallen for many days afterwards.

Seeing him hug a puppy or kitten that had to be sent to the pound as he quietly told it, "You're my little brother. I hate to give you up!" was truly unbearable. How could his unfledged little spirit comprehend the practical difficulties of an adult? How could he grasp that there are many things in the world one simply can do nothing about?

Whenever he would complain, "Mommy, you always told me to love and protect small animals, but now you say you can't," I would be stumped for words. When I recalled how the poor poet Tu Fu of the Tang dynasty wished for a huge house with millions of rooms for the impoverished scholars of the world, I longed to build a shelter for homeless animals, to keep them warm and fed. A womanly sort of compassion it may have been, but it let me partake in a greater love for the welfare of all living things.

My son is in his thirties now, but his face is as pure and youthful as it was when he was a little child. "Why don't you raise a dog or a cat, Mother?" he has asked me many times.

"I always wanted to," I said, "but there were just too many practical difficulties in the way. Who would have looked after it when we went away, for instance? Your father and I are old now and barely have time to look after ourselves. How could we care for it if we got sick?

Then I sighed: "I still talk to the plants and flowers in the house, and there's pleasure in that, too."

He smiled apologetically and fell silent. Could he have understood the pleasure an old couple can find in talking to plants?

We've lived overseas for many years now. My husband has retired and has more time to spend at home. When we've had our fill of each other's company, we often sit amid a roomful of plants and flowers and feel that silence is better than sound. I can't resist teasing him by asking, "A Sung dynasty poet once said that trees wouldn't live so long if they had feelings. So how do you stack up against a tree, you tight-lipped old coot?" He smiles, "Trees can't live long if they have feelings, but a couple can't stay married unless they do!"