China cat sunflower, and a poem by Yeats

Do plants or trees experience anything resembling human jetlag as they grow from seed to full flower? I ask the question the morning after returning to the US, a journey involving two cars, a bus, two airplanes, a journe lasting 28 hours from its beginning in Dublin, Ireland to the end in Portland, Oregon.

Yes and no I suppose as I walk down the street this morning to fetch the morning paper from the local coffee shop, feeling like death and feeling that maybe death won't be all that terrible after all, that perhaps it will be more like walking around a neighborhood I know but don't really live in anymore, so that every thing there is interesting again and I am once more the center of attention. Furthermore, what if I could have this feeling and live in it every day? Would that really be so terrible? Of course it would! I don't know what I was thinking, other than my heart wasn't really into what I was thinking.

With that little episode past, having collected my paper and coffee, I walk back home thinking of Yeats' poem: that another way of looking at what he wrote about the worst being full of passionate intensity and the best lacking all conviction is that it's just as easy for awful people to have children as it is for good people, that perhaps it's even easier for awful people.