One Day

One day, I will not have to water the strange hybrids that my brother has planted ever again. On that day, I will feel regret as well as relief. For they are indeed strange, and yet they are beautiful. It is as if one gazes upon something rare which does not quite fit in one's experience, but which is not ugly; one is drawn to it to verify or to falsify one's strange attraction, but one is able to do neither, and so one repeats the attempt. And again. And again.

It was the Hierophant who made me think of it. In H G Wells's The Strange Orchid or in Arthur Clarke's The Reluctant Orchid, the ghastly tropisms and odd consciousnesses of the plants in question have that sort of attraction. Orchids are the rare and terrifying keynote in the seminar of the plant kingdom.

I have one day more to go. If I never post again, you can refer to Wells (1894) or Clarke (1956) for clues. Good day.