Da found it out on the edge of the south paddock. His first thought was to burn it. But Uncle Tenju stopped him. Together they dug a ditch around the thing. They said they wanted to shore it off, keep it from spreading. It didn’t help.
It moved through the paddock without notice. It spread from tree to tree. Each in turn dying in the most brilliant manner. They shed their bark and leaves to reveal a pearlescent sheen of gelatinous pulp. It would hold its shape for some time, but the wind and the heat of the summer would soon see it collapse. All that would remain is an oily residue atop the soil.
By that point Da had no choice. He took a fire to the whole thing. He didn’t warn the neighbors, or those beyond the paddock in the wilderness. They would catch sight of it soon enough, and thank him, he said. But they never knew. He couldn’t get the thing to catch.
That made Da even more determined. He wasn’t a man to take lightly to a challenge, and he felt called out by the mass. Meanwhile Uncle Tenju and his family had resorted to prayer. But Da sought something more immediate.
That’s when he got the dynamite.
Today’s art is courtesy of Blake Rottinger from Sydney, Australia.