“…’Tell me, mother, will I die?’ ‘Yes, my child, and so shall I’…”

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There is a great deal about flowers that fascinate me.

 

Their vibrant colors.

 

Their aroma.

 

Their texture.

 

Even their ephemeral nature.

 

 

 

However, while certainly appealing, life-affirming and sometimes nigh on hypnotic—

 

Flowers are not altruistic.

 

They haven’t developed their charms simply for the sake of them.

 

Or for the sole goal of pleasing the viewer.

 

 

 

Now, as much as I may enjoy them (and I certainly do), I don’t forget an important biological fact:

 

They create a form, an image and overall powerful impression of enticement for a purpose.

 

That purpose is to get certain needs of the plant met.

 

Reproduction being chief among them.

 

 

 

See, nature has granted wiles to life that is at the mercy of the whims of stronger creatures.

 

And, so very well have these attractive things weaved their magick—

 

Much of the world has slipped, like the Lotophagi, into the dream that they are not the one’s being used.

 

Blissful in their torpor.

 

 

 

 

 

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