The Orchid

Prolouge

The mangroves cast unintelligible shadows across the endless waters encasing the ghost orchid. Myriads of fish develop the natural flow of the landscape. They leave behind millions of scales as they descend a few feet into the water. It is impossible to capture a singularly more beautiful moment than watching the fish capture their prey. The water glistens as the sun asserts itself from behind the horizon engendering the fish to rest. As the fish descend into their harmonious slumber the orchid begins it's long day of pollinating and sun collecting.

It is salient to recognize the colony of ants that have placed themselves within walking distance of the orchid. The ants spend every moment of their short lives crafting their place of existence in the hopes of the survival of those who succeed them. The ants move each individual grain of sand when they work, which seems miniscule, yet to the ants this is valuable work and deserving of praise.

The sun crests the horizon ushering a new day. The pale moonlight no longer supports the nightvision of the wildlife on the island. The grass rejoices because of the fresh dew left for each blade to enjoy. The dirt is illuminated and every molecule alike awakened and warmed by its holy presence.

The birds tweet a song of life and hunger, for it is time to feed their tenuous young. The subtle shifts in wind current created by the bird soaring will forever affect the growth of the orchid. The soil is enriched by the worms who feast. Yet the birds do not consider the consequences of their actions. As the birds mercilessly tear the strings of pink flesh from their caves they are weakening the life expectancy of their fragile orchid neighbor. Silently the birds return to their nest fostering a delighted screech from the chicks who are receiving their breakfast.
The verdant mangroves live in matrimony with the vines that hug them tighter each day. They coil around the trunks delicately embracing the leathery texture. No part of the tree provides any sustenance to the vines, but the relationship is still formed. Such anomalies bring joy to those who dare to truly look at their surroundings. When such a precious ecosystem is presented to the human eye, we tend to focus on the broad image of it all. When in reality the minute details was the purpose behind it all. Sorry to absquatulate but the morning breeze has brought some new visitors.

    The cerulean sky broke open, filling with angry gray splotches. Devastating waves attacked the shallow waters. What once rippled now roared and what once waded now sunk and spun in endless chaos. When the world seems at its calmest is when you know that the worst is yet to come. The once rising sun now ceases to exist and the world darkens prematurely. However this time the moon is not present to guide the nightlife and the stars do not illuminate the black sky. The breeze transforms into violent gusts which threaten the existence of this small world.

    The rain is said to be the spirits of those who have died rejoining life back on earth after escaping from heaven. Except it is hard to believe that spirits who have seen the light of heaven would want to cause such damage to those still living. In any case, resistance is futile. The orchid saw it's life end during the storm. each petal detached independently, natating through the strong gusts of wind, forevermore traversing a world they have never known before. The feeble infrastructure of the anthill collapses under the intense pressure of the wind. Nothing in this world remains the same after the winds strike.

    In a miraculous moment the rain began. Pelting every bit of life that dared live on the island. At least what used to be an island. The tides slowly engulfs the shoreline, rising higher and higher over taking the land. What used to be an island is now a watery gravesite.

The grass submerged under the water is in crisis. Is it grass or seaweed? The worms that rejuvenate the soil, float to the surface of the water in order to catch their breath. And the ants form into a huddle of black dots carrying their young in hopes of finding somewhere more inhabitable.

A violent chirping commences as the newborn chicks are thrown into the water. No life experience could have prepared them for this moment. And sadly none of them know how to swim.