In a time before scribes, people spoke of Owl's Head or Bobwhite's Moccasin.
Roots were dug, and tea was made.
Healers danced and sang their songs.
Snakebites cured and headaches gone.
Now it is written...
Platanthara ciliaris, Yellow-fringed orchid.
Fifty golden dervishes, frozen mid-whirl, the inflorescence beckons, welcoming its ephemeral airborne consort, the swallowtail.
Glowing beacon.
Sweet, sweet nectar.
Pollinator nourished, pollen conveyed, next August's orchids arranged...
Today, in the increasingly rare spot where sufficiently acid soils and adequate sunlight conspire with mysterious subterranean mycorrhizae to urge this flaming gem from the earth, the keen observer will join the timeless throng mesmerized by its myriad charms.
The cure, the balm, the august orchid...
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