Mistletoe Cactus

I've started a garden in my backyard, mostly desert plants. It's a bit cluttered, a little eclectic, but it has a charm all its own. In the morning, it becomes a quiet refuge, somewhere I can sit, meditate, and pray. The birds know it too. They come for the easy meal, for the water that's always there, and I sit still long enough to feel like I'm part of it.

One of my plants is a mistletoe cactus, and it's an odd little thing. When you think "cactus," you picture heat, dust, and something stubbornly holding on to every drop of water. This one does the opposite. It comes from the rainforest. Instead of rooting in the ground, it drapes itself over tree branches as though it doesn't need to belong anywhere in particular.

The stems are long and slender, falling in loose, tangled strands with an easy, unhurried rhythm. When it blooms, you could walk right past it without noticing. The flowers are tiny, creamy white, tucked quietly along the stems without asking for attention. Later, they become small, pearl-like berries that really do resemble mistletoe. The name suddenly makes perfect sense.