Gentle spirits, that humans tend to overlook, they are a people that much resemble what we humans know as beetles, or insects from the order Coleoptera. Like tiny gods, they arise a new every spring when the vernal pools swell, to tend to their small worlds. Creatures like these, stewards as you might call them, exist in every facet of our earth, but some, much larger and longer-lived, have seemingly forgetten their roots.
Glistening and glimmering like tiny gems, they dart through their domain, ensuring that all the creatures under their care remain well. If you asked one why they cared so, it wouldn't quite know what to say. As it's flicked out it's blue, finned wings, it might wonder outloud, "is it not enough to just wish to care for other things?"
When the spring rains beat down upon the reawakening earth, these stewards are the first to arise. From eggs they had carefully stowed last summer, before the scorching summer heat had drained their vernal pool, they emerge. One almost always hatches first, and once it has found its footing, will help break the others from their pearlescent eggs.
They are a gentle people, who collaborate on every task. We humans might say that they thrive in a true democracy, but of course, to these tiny stewards those words carry no weight. For this is all they know, and all they have ever known, for them rulers as a concept simply do not exist.
When one little steward wishes to differ in such a way, they simply proceed to change. Decisions are made by how many of their fellow stewards follow in kind. If in time, it is seen that few have followed the new path, they simply all revert to the older ways. Choices are made by all, but not a word is said aloud. These watery stewards percieve and understand each other simply by watching and comprehending.
As the wider world changes around them, their tasks too have changed. As the summer grow warmer and the sun fiercer, each generation has less and less time to tend to their great vernal pool. There have been springs where the necessary rains have not come at all, and the stewards eggs remained untouched. Nestled in their parched soil nest, they had to wait yet another long year. Click here my dear reader to return to the front page.
Glistening and glimmering like tiny gems, they dart through their domain, ensuring that all the creatures under their care remain well. If you asked one why they cared so, it wouldn't quite know what to say. As it's flicked out it's blue, finned wings, it might wonder outloud, "is it not enough to just wish to care for other things?"
When the spring rains beat down upon the reawakening earth, these stewards are the first to arise. From eggs they had carefully stowed last summer, before the scorching summer heat had drained their vernal pool, they emerge. One almost always hatches first, and once it has found its footing, will help break the others from their pearlescent eggs.
They are a gentle people, who collaborate on every task. We humans might say that they thrive in a true democracy, but of course, to these tiny stewards those words carry no weight. For this is all they know, and all they have ever known, for them rulers as a concept simply do not exist.
When one little steward wishes to differ in such a way, they simply proceed to change. Decisions are made by how many of their fellow stewards follow in kind. If in time, it is seen that few have followed the new path, they simply all revert to the older ways. Choices are made by all, but not a word is said aloud. These watery stewards percieve and understand each other simply by watching and comprehending.
As the wider world changes around them, their tasks too have changed. As the summer grow warmer and the sun fiercer, each generation has less and less time to tend to their great vernal pool. There have been springs where the necessary rains have not come at all, and the stewards eggs remained untouched. Nestled in their parched soil nest, they had to wait yet another long year. Click here my dear reader to return to the front page.
