The Wormwood plant I've had for nearly as long as I've been a witch seems to have passed away. I've had the pleasure of knowing her company for about twelve years, and at her peak of growth she was nearly six feet across, and almost nine feet high.
In my old home (she has been transplanted) I could lean out of my octagonal window (about eight feet off of the ground) and pick leaves. During windy nights her smell would waft in, keeping away bugs, and inviting stranger things (like the owl who once flapped right in my window!)
Every spring, summer, and fall, I would harvest leaves for incenses and washes. She was one of my closest allies, and verged on what I would call "familiar" territory. She had a voice, she spoke. She shared wisdom. Her spirit was vibrant, if jealous and hasty.
By this time of year she should've already been about an 8-12" puffball, and I see no sprouts. I don't -feel- life in her anymore. She's gone quiet. I'll wait until Beltane-eve, and if she has not sprouted I will send her off in the ritual fire. Hopefully, freeing whatever of her might still be bound in the stems of the previous season.
I believe that when you name something, you give it individuality. Not that humans have this high and mighty power, but rather... the Naming of a thing begins it's awakening, stretching, coming alive in senses, even to it's spirit. When we speak to plants, and name them, we begin to awaken them and if we are good to them they will speak back.
I believe that each plant can share in a pool-spirit ("Deva"), but that when we cultivate a plant, or honor it with Craft, it's Deva becomes unique. She was still a Grand Wormwood, but she was also Green Lady. My scrying mirrors rest on a bed of her, my runes nest like eggs in her, my ritual dagger is kept gleaming and free of rust by oils infused with her.
I am going to miss the old gal.