NIGHTSHADE TEA: THE BRANCH QUESTION

Does this look “excitable” to you? Excitable is a state only day-dwellers experience.

NIGHTSHADE TEA: THE BRANCH QUESTION

By Kin Kajuu — Pollinator. Columnist. Problem.

I have been called "excitable."

I want to be clear about the creature who said this: he was a day-dweller, on the wrong branch, at the wrong hour, eating fruit that did not belong to him, who then had the additional confidence to offer me a character assessment before lumbering back to wherever it is day-dwellers go when the real world begins. I did not respond. I am above it. I have been above it for four days and I expect to remain above it for several more.

Some creatures experience the night as an absence of day. I experience it as the only time anything worth reporting actually happens. These are two different relationships with reality and I will not be explaining mine further to those who have chosen the inferior one.

There is news. There is always news. That is what the night is for.

THE BRANCH QUESTION

Word has come — through the whisper vine, east spiral, via a beetle whose discretion I have never had cause to question — that the Velt family is returning to the canopy after several seasons' absence.

You know the official account of their departure. I will not repeat it. I will say only that an account which has been passed through this many mouths acquires, over time, a certain smoothness — and that smoothness, in my experience, is not a sign of truth. It is a sign of handling. Polished things are polished because someone has been polishing them. I find the polish interesting. I find the question of who has been doing the polishing more interesting still.

What I will report is this: a branch cluster, east-facing, above the second whisper vine — good mist, exceptional acoustics, a location I know with some intimacy in my professional capacity — has been claimed. The claim is appropriate. The branch is excellent. The Scarf-Tail Brothers disagree.

The Scarf-Tail Brothers, whose ancestral territory continues to expand.

The Scarf-Tail Brothers, whose relationship to the canopy's territorial history is, at the most generous possible assessment, aspirational, have filed a formal objection on the grounds that the east-facing cluster falls within their ancestral glide path. This is the same ancestral glide path that has, at various points this season, encompassed the fig grove, the upper whisper vine, three quarters of Club Foliage's ceiling, and a squirrel's hammock — the squirrel in question has requested anonymity, which I am respecting, and which costs me nothing as I have already told you everything relevant.

The objection was delivered into the open air at full volume on Tuesday evening at ten past nine.

It has been received by the air.

(The branch, incidentally, was observed at dusk on Tuesday by a Tayra of my long acquaintance — Cipó, who has a history with the Velt family that the canopy knows and does not discuss and which I mention only because I was also at the whisper vine at that hour, professionally, and saw what I saw. I ate a fig. I moved on. There is nothing further to say about it.)

The always sleek and stylish Cipó.

THE FORMATION

To the matter of Gomphus and Lestes, which has developed since my last column in ways I feel obligated to report and, frankly, required to admire.

Gomphus: dragonfly, prime sunlit water patch, territorial standing of genuine consequence in the swarm's hierarchy. Lestes: damselfly of a certain age, rival water source, prior claim predating several current arrangements. Their entanglement has been reported in this column. The swarm's response has exceeded my initial projections.

A formation of disapproval has formed.

Eleven members. Modified chevron. Someone practiced. I do not know when — the territorial council has been in emergency session for three consecutive weeks following a procedural motion filed into the wrong body of water, which invalidated three months of deliberation and which I mention only because it is relevant and not at all because I find it deeply satisfying — but the hours were found, and the result is a piece of synchronized aerial censure that I will admit, privately and only once, is among the more technically accomplished things I have witnessed this season.

I attended L'Entomon this week expressly to observe the formation in context. The fireflies provided their usual bioluminescent atmosphere — that particular quality of light that makes everyone present appear to be the protagonist of something, which is either a gift or a significant misrepresentation depending on the individual. The formation arrived forty seconds after Gomphus and Lestes, held the chevron through the first hour, tightened it during the second, and by the third had introduced what I can only describe as a ceremonial pulse — rhythmic, synchronized, serving no tactical function I could identify and impossible to look away from.

Gomphus did not look at the formation once.

Lestes looked at it once.

Her expression: already knowing.

“Her expression: already knowing.”

— KIN KAJUU, present, also eating, both things equally important

BITE OF THE NIGHT

A fig

— located at the whisper vine while observing nothing in particular regarding Cipó, at dusk, on a branch adjacent to a reunion I was not watching. Texture: dense. Giving. A fraction past its moment. Flavor: dark fruit, warm bark, something underneath I identified and then decided not to identify. Rating: ✦✦✦✦ out of 5. I have had better figs. I have not had a fig I thought about more.

NIBBLE NOTE The Scarf-Tail Brothers' formal objection remains formally unreceived by any body with authority to receive it. Their volume has increased in inverse proportion to their audience. This is a pattern I have observed before in creatures who suspect they are losing.

NIGHT NOTES The parrots have been quiet for two weeks. I am not concerned. I am noting it here so that when I am later proved right about it I will have documentation.

Lady Skirrit was observed at the east-facing branch cluster at dawn on Wednesday. She did not stay. She did not touch anything. She looked at the branch the way she looks at everything: as though she has already made a decision and is waiting for the situation to catch up. Her plates caught the light briefly when she turned.

The chameleon appeared at Club Foliage this week in what I can only describe as a statement. He changed four times before midnight. I do not know what he is saying. I know he is saying it with conviction and I know it is directed at someone specific and I know that someone specific was also present and did not look at him once, which is either indifference or its precise opposite. He was not the same shade twice.

NEXT WEEK… The east-facing branch cluster will not be empty much longer. The canopy has been performing indifference about this for several weeks. The performance is about to become considerably more demanding.

I have a good branch. I have better fruit. I am, as always, ready.

You didn't hear it from me. (You absolutely did.)

— Kin Kajuu, Pollinator. Columnist. Problem.

Nightshade Tea: The Fig Feud

By Kin Kajuu Pollinator. Columnist. Problem.

The Fig Feud

Plump, purple and fragrant…speaking of the figs, not Lady Skirrit.

Ah, dear reader. Have you ever noticed that the sweetest fruit always ripens alongside the sourest behavior?

The moon has been heavy lately — full and glowing like it’s watching, and the canopy, as always, answers with intrigue. A fig patch has caused a rift this week, and I must tell you: it is delicious.

On the east spiral of the whisper vine (you know the one — excellent mist, underrated acoustics), a glistening clutch of figs emerged earlier than expected. Plump, purple, fragrant with overripe possibility. Naturally, the moment it blushed, so did the scandal.

Lady Skirrit’s clear claim and unquestionable elegance.

Enter Lady Skirrit, the thorn-backed armadillo with a taste for exclusivity and a long-standing reputation for subtle dominance. She’d already visited the patch days earlier, leaving what any seasoned forager would recognize as a clear claim — a precise pre-nibble here, a musky rub of the shoulderplate there. Elegant. Discreet.

But not everyone honors etiquette.

The Scarf-Tail Brothers mid squeak.

The Scarf-Tail Brothers — two sugar-gliding upstarts with more drama than lineage — arrived in a swirl of squeaks and declarations. According to them, the fig patch belonged to their “ancestral glide path.” According to everyone else: they just saw the fruit, saw the moment, and decided to seize both.

What followed was less a dispute and more a full-fledged canopy squabble. Lady Skirrit flared her backplates in warning. The brothers performed a series of aerial flips that said nothing and proved less. Tension rose. Figs were bruised. A particularly ripe one burst mid-air with such force it stained a squirrel’s hammock three branches below.

Moments before the unfortunate hammock stain.

Naturally, I had to intervene.
Not to settle it, of course.
To taste it.

“Let the fig decide,” I said, plucking one mid-argument and savoring its overripe sweetness. “This one tastes of betrayal. Possibly cinnamon. Delightful.”

The feud remains unresolved. Lady Skirrit has threatened arbitration. The Scarf-Tail Brothers have released a very long, very boring chirp-statement about “heritage fruit rights.” I remain amused and well-fed.

Delightful. Me and the fig.

Bite of the Night

The Disputed Fig — consumed in the middle of the quarrel, under rising heat and the threat of impoliteness.
Texture: yielding.
Flavor: dark cherry, sun-warmed bark, and a little something fermented.
Rating: ✦✦✦✦ out of 5.
Best enjoyed while others are arguing loudly above your head.

Nibble Note

A lime-zested ant passed across my tongue during the chaos. I did not interfere. I admire a creature who knows where it’s going, even if it's straight into danger.

Night Notes

The parrots are laughing in their sleep again. I don’t trust it. No creature with that many colors should have access to dreams.

Next Week...

I’m told the Silver Matron has returned to the Widowleaf after seasons in absence.
Last time she visited, someone “fell.”
This time, I’ll be watching.
And tasting.

You didn’t hear it from me.
(You absolutely did.)

Kin Kajuu

Nightshade Tea: A Canopy Conundrum Unraveled

Scandalous winged escapades.

Alright, my fellow nocturnal revelers, Kin Kajuu is back on the prowl, ready to spill the nocturnal tea on this enchanting evening. The moon, high and mighty, is practically winking, sharing conspiratorial glances with the stars, as if to say, "You won't believe what goes down in the jungle after dark." 

And oh, do I have the deets!

First stop on the gossip train is L’Entomon, where the fireflies are throwing their annual gala and, as always, it's the talk of the treetops. I swing by, catching whispers of clandestine rendezvous and buzzing affairs. Against the background of the stunning light display made by the hosts themselves, I hear whispers of a tryst. Rumour has it that a noteworthy, well appointed dragonfly and a discreet damselfly of a certain age are entwined in a moonlit romance, setting the Canopy abuzz with scandalous winged escapades. Only time will tell if their union will topple the current hierarchy of the swarm, or if the sizzle will fizzle.

“Only time will tell if their union will topple the current hierarchy of the swarm, or if the sizzle will fizzle.”

— Anonymous Gala Attendee

The D.H.C.

Is there change coming to the treetops?

Now, let's talk about the Dark Hour Caucus, the shadowy gathering of wise owls, sly foxes, and mysterious bats. These three social circles rarely overlap unless there is change afoot. As I eavesdrop on their hoots and yips, I unveil a political power struggle among the wise old owls. Feathers are ruffled, alliances are forming, and the jungle is on the brink of a nighttime political drama that could rival any daytime soap opera. 

These guys.

Best to have a fox or three around to turn tragedy into comedy.

Should we be alarmed? Dear Canopy Dwellers, I think not. It seems pride and ego were spurring a longtime rivalry between two particular owls D. and M. The foxes, as usual, were able to utilise their skilful diplomacy. Especially of note was a certain respected elder fox who, with his usual humor and magnanimous whiskers, lightened the scenario, to the relief of all. 

As for the bats, I am not fluent in echolocation, but from what I gathered they were all well relieved this kerfuffle came to an end. Who knew the treetops held such political intrigue?

Flirts in echolocation.

But that's not all, my night-loving comrades.

Club Foliage, the heartbeat of the jungle's nightlife, where the best of the best gather to mix, mingle and let loose, has its fair share of shocking tales tonight. Amid the rhythmic beats and dancing shadows, a love triangle is playing out. 

How does he do it?

Behold his 37th ensemble change for the evening.

A certain chameleon famous for multiple outfit changes per night, a “flirtatious” fruit bat dear to us all, and an enigmatic tree frog, who abruptly came to the Canopy this week on some urgent pursuit (bringing an intimidating entourage along, no less) find themselves entangled in a web of romantic ambiguity. Are the three engaged in the business of love, or are they all part of this compelling mission that brought said gentleman frog to our circles? The branches are buzzing with speculation, and the audience can't get enough of the Canopy drama.

What is the mystery mission?

Secrets will be revealed with time.

As I make my way through the darkened branches, I can't help but be the eyes and ears for you, my curious companions. The jungle's nightlife is a tapestry of scandal, romance, and political intrigue. So, fasten your metaphorical seatbelts, because Kin Kajuu is here to guide you through the gossip-laden trails of the night, where every rustle and chirp tells a story untold. Stay tuned for the next chapter as we uncover more secrets in the wild world of Nightshade Tea.

-Kin Kajuu

Nightshade Tea: The Magical Hour of Predation

It has been said by some that I am a Secretive Creature of the Canopy, but anyone who would say such a thing is making an issue out of nothing. They wish they could be part of the Canopy, if you know what I mean. Jealousy is an ugly, weak thing. Dear Day-Living creatures, there is nothing “secretive” going on simply because you are asleep and not participating in, nor invited to, the nocturnal wonders happening nightly in the Canopy. 

These same types have called me “difficult.” I scoff at this. They disparage me while continually engaging in the questionable activities of “studying” me (Can you pronounce the word “stalking”?) which they shouldn’t have been doing, and do not have the depth to do in the first place. They desire to pull me down, down, down, down, down, down to their level, but I stay high. I stay on the best and most elevated branches. I keep myself and my vibes flying as high as the tree tops. There are layers and layers of complex pathways to enlightenment up there. (“Enlightenment” as in intellectually and spiritually speaking. We all know I avoid actual light.)

I am seldom seen by these Day Dwellers because of my strict nocturnal habits and their strict commitment to convention. 

I am important. 

As a pollinator. 

Officially. 

That is plant sex and they always need a third. Nothing like smearing the pollen off my face on the next flower and the next, all night long. Well, mainly from 7 pm to Midnight. Then I take a little break.

Pollination

How much is enough for one night?

I have sharp teeth and these naysayers will feel it one day.

I digress.

Figs

My favorite.

Have you ever met someone who is frugivorous? It’s the same as a fruitarian, like Steve Jobs was for a while. I am one. Well mostly. I eat a lot of figs. I like spicy ants. So, I also practice insectivory. I prefer the term entomophage, I think it’s more elegant. Sometimes I eat eggs. Ok I am an ovo-entomophagic-fruitarian. On occasion I eat meat. Ok I am actually in all honesty omnivorous. 

Entomophage

Ants are spicy and nutritious.

Around an hour before sunrise I get my second wind and am fired up and active again, but, I am telling you, there are unseen assassins everywhere. They can be from your same level and also from above. (You know who you are, you old harpy.) So I find a secret, secure hideaway before sunrise.

Be alert

to unseen forces.

Dawn is the magical hour for predation.

They get us when we are at our most exhausted and they, as Day Dwellers, are at their most refreshed from wasting the whole precious night sleeping. I get myself a good place. Concealed, I curl up my honey colored body in time to beat the rude and disrespectful sun before it comes up. I make myself safely hidden in a small dark place so nothing can find me. There I stay, shielded from the uncivil light until the sun runs away again. If you are a Creature of the Night, you should do the same.

-Kin Kajuu