the plant speaks a shifting geometry; the fungus reads it by growing into it.
neither the pattern nor the network exists before their meeting — only the vibrating ground, and what consents to it
— listening —
touch to provoke the plant — it spikes when disturbed
Plant voice — the score, written once—
The plant voice never repeats and never resolves to a clean tone — it wanders, and only
now and then drifts close enough to a whole-number mode that a figure briefly sharpens
(a word forms). When it does, the sand settles and the mycelium, finding stable
ground, extends its threads. When the voice moves on, the geometry dissolves and the
network retracts — intra-action, made watchable: the fungus and the figure
compose each other, or nothing.