Victoria regi...

Victoria regiai wade my way through forest, thick green sea of unfurled ferns, reticular roots, fronds that catch the light on their vast fingers and cast huge lattices of shadow, tree trunks that loom dark and prominent with their tonnage of growth. the air that bites and nips and buzzes, and catches at you in moist, torrid breaths. i forage shallow pools, mud-clogged or clear and reflective, where dragonflies fly dizzy patterns in chase, and strange birds dive for food.the ladies-in-waiting, dressed in green liveries, bring me tea in laden tea-trays. they iron out my petticoats, arrange the folds of my dress into an impeccable white cluster, spray me with a haze of rare perfume. they bicker and nudge, whispering sharp, pointed snubs at the lowly maids, their skirts filling the room with a swirling shadow that denies any visitors.i find her at last, in a still sun-drenched tributary. there she stands above the waterline, on a peduncle long and erect, smelling of pine-apple or melon, or the fruit of some far off exotic land i have yet to explore. her petals are large and luminously white, and all around her expand the vast orbicular lamina, their edges curled up, their undersides reddish and covered in spines, attached to the stem by long, terete petioles.i walk out in the evening. the sun is just setting, but the cool night air is welcome after such perennial confinement as mine. i stretch my arms, my long legs under their many-layers. the ladies-in-waiting shoulder each other petulantly, they are red underneath, lively and lusty.he is by that giant river now, and it is day, humid, stifling. his hands are full of a magnificent blossom, which he examines and dissects.she flushes a deepening pink, and her petals reflex, layer by layer, until all that is left is a filamentous crown of deep rose, and the golden pollen at the heart of the flower is rendered visible. mindful not to breathe, i gently tap some of the pollen into a paper envelope, and wade back out onto the river bank, dripping with mud and tangles of plants. i rest alone on the floor of the rainforest, where it is nearly perpetually dark, and contemplate my small treasure, and the journey to the next bloom.the following morning, i dress in pink, and the ladies-in-waiting spend hours starching my skirts. at the palace a little girl dressed in dragonfly wings is sitting on a lily-pad, singing. they ask me when he will be back, and whether he will find what he seeks. i start to answer but a sudden, unseasonable rain, with its heavy droplets pounds against the plants and drowns out my voice. the rose-coloured skirts slap limply against my legs, the scent blows away. the ladies-in-waiting collect small pools but they are buoyant and laugh and prick each other viciously. my steps grow laboured as the dress soaks up the rain. i sink beneath its weight, into the watery depths which made me, where i brood, and invent the vernation of a new love.*- image from here.- INCREDIBLY BEAUTIFUL botanical descriptions of the victoria regia here.