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Datura



"Are only the faeries out at night?" asked the curious child.


"Why no, there are many other spirits or essence-airy beings all out & about," answered the sleepy morning glory.


Like the spirit of the Jasmine, the moonflower, or the Datura.


"The Datura?" asked the child. "And what do you mean, spirits? Aren't those flowers? Why don't flowers have spirits?" asserted the child, giggling away.


"Go to sleep!" warned his mother from two doors away.


In a whisper, the Morning Glory leaned in through the windowsill & said,


"We, flowers and plants kingdom beings, have our own scents, colors, and flavors, I suppose, to you. That is called an essence, and some call it our spirits. At night, some of the flowers play. It is why we bloom at different hours and help humanity or produce poisonous mischief or have scents that draw a human in. The Datura is all over your mother's garden, and they are up all night blooming away as if it were the light of day," explained the Morning Glory as her petals blanketed her face.


"Wait!" asked the child in a panic.


"Yes," whispered the Morning Glory with one eye closed and the other drooping behind.


"What's the Datura like?"


"She's mischief but sees in so many perspectives it is so very great to see indeed. She sees between worlds & realms, like yours or mine or even between yours and the cat's. Never eat her, for your eyes sensitive will be, you may get lost between here and there or you may just scatter into all the eyes that fill every space indeed," explained the Morning Glory as she yawned a long, deep yawn.


"Wait!" asked the child again. "What does she look like without all the petals and stuff?"


"Like the very picture of innocence drawing you in, but beware for they call her the Devil's trumpet," said the Morning Glory as its voice faded away as she settled in till the light of day.


The child sat up again in a panic, looking out the window with eyes like big saucers. Noticing that under the moonlight, the flower transformed, and her essence, she revealed.


"Devil's trumpet," the child whispered, with a tiny speck of fear & hypnotized delight!

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