In which some fascinating things are discovered about the secret lives of plants and other living things.
Somewhere between waking and sleeping on our journey towards the unfathomable deep, there comes a thin moment where we have one foot in the waking world and the other is in that other world where we relinquish conscious control.
Pausing here and straddled between two planets that drive one another like gears, the attentive traveler will notice a narrow door only wide enough to sidle through.
This is the border of sleep, where imagination and reality are braided together, a chasm in the crust of consciousness, venting the hot pumice of imagery into the irresistible magma of narrative.
Welcome to episode 40 of Stories from the Borders of Sleep, a semi regular podcast of curious tales from bordersofsleep.com featuring original stories by your host, Seymour Jacklin.
Visit bordersofsleep.com for more information or to leave some feedback.
This episode is a first in that it comes with a dedication to two regular listeners, Maria and Ben, who are celebrating their fifth wedding anniversary.
In fact, the story has been written with help and inspiration from Ben and as hopefully a surprise for Maria.
Congratulations you two, and I'm sure we wish you all the best.
The soundtrack for this week's episode is by a Scandinavian harp player called Eric Ask ulfmark and it's available from magnitude.com so if you're ready to journey with me, then I shall begin rehoming By Seymour Jacklin it was a Wednesday, just after her lunch break.
Mary had been outside on the roof where there were some concrete benches and a few sorry planters sparsely inhabited by a colony of plucky alpine plants.
It was a bland setting for her to chew through her tasteless sandwiches, but she made herself do it.
Even the washed out November sun was better than the clinical glare of the office lighting.
Returning to her desk, she was just unzipping her coat when she overheard the conversation between two office plants atop the filing cabinet that backed onto her workstation.
A philodendron with its waxy heart shaped leaves and a recently arrived pitura that was not much more than a sprig sporting a cluster of green spearheads.
You'll get used to it, philo was saying.
It tastes all bitter.
I don't want to get used to it, batura replied in a shriller voice.
Mary paused with her zipper halfway put her hands down on the desk and leant in closer to the plants.
That's just the chemicals they have in their ink and paper, said Philo.
You stop noticing it.