The Orchid

Far out to the east there is a forest; A forest wider than the sea, An older than the mountains. And of the many tales that drift between, The twisting birches, maples and oaks, One song runs through them all. For some have claimed That far inside the shady depths, There lies a secret lake. And crowding round the banks Are orchids, Arctic white. All save one. For far inside the snowy depths, Stands one black orchid. And this orchid is dreaming................................................Hell o. I’m Orchid. Welcome to my site. I’ve put some pictures up to give you an idea of what I look like. Unfortunately, none of them are actually of me. It’s kind of impossible to get a photographer to come to where I live.In truth, I’m somewhat darker. The air here is heavy with time and forgetfulness, and my petals mirror long still nights, and days measured by the slow decay and regeneration of this forest, forever turning in on herself; swallowing whole endlessly.Here I invite you to experience my dreams. These have happened to me ever since I can remember. These are the ways perhaps in which I understand the world. These are the distillation of the streams of information that have passed through me. It is with these dreams I can orientate myself; past joys, fallen empires, and plagues from which nothing was credited with chance of survival. In time, all of these will travel within me. In time, all of this will return.In here also my eyes, ears, hands; phantom limbs from long forgotten times, weirdly fluttering out to rest inside of people, branching out in quantum steps from soul to soul. In truth I’m somewhat darker, and photographers rarely return from visiting here. And as sight would be welcome, I hope you find something pleasing within these dreams.