Flytrap Prayer at First Light
Even the smallest lives carry a truth that asks us to slow down… listen… choose gently.
Boiling Springs Lake is quiet this morning… a hush where the flytraps once hummed with their snap‑jaw patience…
They’re in trouble now… thinned out… fenced in… the last wild ones holding on like porch musicians playing to fewer and fewer ears…
I picture myself there… boots sinking into Carolina mud… thinking how even a plant with teeth made of sunlight can be pushed toward disappearing…
Then the mind shifts… not like a bird turning… but like a shadow changing shape… and suddenly I’m back in Texas… Big Thicket breathing its swamp‑warm breath into the morning…
Pitcher plants rising like yellow lanterns… sundews glittering their sticky constellations… butterworts keeping their quiet hunger the way the earth taught them…
Different states… same story… small fierce things trying to survive the heavy boots of progress…
And the flytrap… snapping only when touched twice… as if even a predator wants to be sure before it takes anything…
Maybe that’s the prayer… a whisper from Carolina to Texas… from one endangered hunger to another… a reminder that the smallest lives still need our choosing.
.......
Have a good week ahead, much luv, xo
The two-touch thing... I keep thinking about a tiny hungry plant still making sure before it closes, and I’m sorry but that is such a tender kind of fierce.