Allure

Much of the internet is about getting somewhere immediately. Instant updates, surfing around the globe without the time-consuming travel, clicking straight to the cute/funny/shocking cat image (a meme is pure punchline, no build-up). Porn sites are about the act, not the foreplay.

Outside, meanwhile, in the reality-based community, Nature reveals herself more slowly. Even the ephemeral bloom of a poppy has a dance if you slow down enough to watch. The green parts, revealing a hint of petal one day, then the outer layer drops away, and the flower unfurls, shedding dewdrops and beckoning bees.

 

The petals' embrace becomes open arms. More bees visit. Wind shimmies some dew the the ground as sun leads the rest skyward.

The petals begin to wane, the danced-out anthers fade, and they drop away to reveal the next act, the seed pod. Because all this allure, the tempting and teasing, the growing siren call, leads to re-creation (any recreational enjoyment the bees or flower-watchers may experience is just the by-product). It's meant to be fruitful, not just gratify an instant.

 

A few days of promise, one glorious day of flowering (and deflowering), and then weeks of setting seed. Not as showy, but not over, either. The bulb swells, it's crown grows. Skin touched by the sun tans from green to silvery blue, more moon-like with each day. The crown clothes itself in delicate velvet. Inside, clinging roe becomes rattling seed, each one no bigger than the period at the end of this sentence, each one the source of next year's dance.