Discovering what these local objects manifest, imbuing them with significant meaning. Why are they here? Science and naturalists would perhaps suggest that they are inured in the dynamics of accruing and expending energy, that this plant has pushed the boat out , as it were, producing these flowers, for reproduction, in the hope of achieving its continuation. The fear of dying. The survival instinct.

Dusk or dawn, the light is fading away, or starting to stream in, who can tell?

Ecstasy wanes. A recalibration, a calibration, periods of melancholy are needed to calibrate the threshold of appreciation.

A cold pair of lover’s awkward moment. The intensity has diminished, just a little, but it feels like they have jumped off a cliff and lie crushed at the bottom; or drowned in the sea, so cold, so hard, so loveless, so sad; the moment after climax, a moment of abyssal ice. A yawning abyss opens up between them; was this wrong? Have we disintegrated slightly? Have we come a hair undone?

Pearly opalescence.

What kind of insect am I that looks down upon these two flowers on the pond at dusk? What fairy am I? What wisp? Who am I here in this world? what am I?; ... and why am I looking at these white flowers, in the gloomy dusk, with the light fading away? What lover has pricked my heart? ... and why do i look on in envy? What grief has passed?

Will our child be happy? Were we happy? Was this wrong? Were we slaves to something else’s desire? ... to something else’s will? Our sweet child, evil, will stumble through this world like we did. What will change for it? Will it not be worse? What have we done?

If I could see my reflection in the water, what would I see? What would I be?

Water-lilies by moonlight on a warm summers night, buzzing with insects and chirping with frogs, opening for the moon.

The spooky atmosphere in this one. Flowers of the dead: the ghostly midnight water-lilies. Do I see you?