Flowery 3rd Sunday Prompt Yields Double Essay

So continues “Third Sunday Write” (cf. February 22, et al.), the Bloomington Writers Guild’s monthly prompt session, not always responded to exactly on time in these days of COVID-19-forced Facebook manifestation. But my two-days-late Tuesday (yesterday evening) response may be the first one posted. Or maybe that’s two.

The first topic for March, in honor of spring. (1) What is your favorite flower? Tell us why.

Thus my response: Ah, the orchid. Delicate, beautiful, devious. Cheating. You don’t think of orchid fronds, lushness of their leaves — only their flowers. Deceivers of bees. The scent’s not on your mind when you buy a corsage, but some orchids mimic that of female insects, duping males that way to carry their pollen. Themselves not living on photosynthesis as honest plants do, but some of them attaching on branches of trees, with meters-long roots dragging into the air, never reaching the ground. Gaining water from rain. Other nutrients from debris falling on their hosts’ bark. More species more ground-borne, wrapping around the roots of mature trees, leeching food that way. Their very seeds living on parasitism, latching onto receptive fungi to feed on their nutrients for germination.

The vampires of plantdom, alluring. Conniving. Their lives themselves stolen from other plants’ strength — but at least giving beauty back. Sophisticated, the Lady Carmillas. The Bela Lugosis, all suaveness and charm. In corsages, the symbols of high school dances, to teach us the disappointments of young love.

The vampires of plantdom, yes, but it occurred then that there is one flower even worse. That murders its victims, and not for need. So. . . .

(A second take)

But consider then the ugly vampire, the ones stoked by their meanness. Deceivers still, yes, but without the allure. The Max Schrecks, if one will, of a nightmare botanical NOSFERATU. The mistletoe, parasitic as well, but this one, left unchecked, not content merely to mooch off its host plant, but strangling its life away.

These worm themselves into our celebrations, hung from ceilings, a lure for young couples. Demanding a kiss. A Christmas pledge of one’s unending devotion.

We’ll see how long that lasts!

And that’s what I wrote.