— An origin story for the gods at the bottom of the garden.
🌿🪲 GG™ Insight Log 1: Origins, Messy and Confirmed
Yes. Animals fall victim to my camera and voice assigning tendencies.
Yes. These two bugs turned into a story called: When the Leaves Begin to Gossip.
And yes. I’ve somehow created a mini pantheon of weird little things while staring at leaves too long.
🎨 I start with too much description
Always have. Always will.
That’s the way in. I write from the texture up.
Below is a tidied version of my actual journal:
1. What I saw first
Two insects. Alien. Unbothered.
Sitting on a raggedy and torn green leaf, the kind that’s had a few stories written into its edges.
The leaf itself was broad-veined and softly luminous.
The bugs sat side by side. Not quite touching. Not quite ignoring each other either.
Their presence was shared. Uneasy. Intentional.
Left: The Listener
Nestled closer to the tip of the leaf.
Positioned slightly away from centre, like it didn’t want the spotlight, but didn’t shy from it either.
Its posture was inward. Not hiding. Not cowering.
Just... listening. Peeping over the edge at the drama below.
Colour: Black, but rendered pale by the light, appearing silver-grey in patches, with irregular black markings. Like it’s halfway between forms, or halfway through deciding what it wants its spiny crown to become.
Shape: Softly oval. Slightly flattened, not defensive, just withdrawn. Possibly a nymph form, or something else that hasn't grown all the way out of itself yet.
Legs & Antennae: Slim. Black. Tucked in. Positioned close to the body, like they’re prepared, but not participating. Observant. Tense, maybe.
Surface Texture: Speckled with tiny symmetrical spines faint and neat, like a crown that grew inward. The spikes ring the body softly, unthreatening until you look twice. Gleaming with wet iridescence like it’s been dipped in oil and secrets.
Other Details: Its position made it feel lighter than it was. Not physically narratively. It didn’t claim the leaf, it inhabited it. Shared it. Without apology.
Right: The dominant
Planted confidently near the midrib of the leaf. Legs slightly raised, like it had just arrived or was preparing to leave. Feels more dominant. It commands attention. Whether it asks for it or not.
Colour: Dark as onyx or obsidian. Polished like satin. Absorbs light, but doesn’t vanish into it, it holds it, like it might use it later.
Shape: Angular. Classic shield-bug silhouette, but sharpened. Points on the sides jut out like decisions that won’t be taken back. A living geometry problem.
Legs and antennae: Long, black, deliberate. Each limb poised like a tool. Functional, precise, not decorative.
Surface Texture: Smooth, but not simple. Subtle ridges carve along its shell like it’s been designed, or edited, by something with opinions.
Other: A faint brown shape near the centreline of the back, could be a marking, could be a buried jewel, could be an eye that doesn’t blink. Similar trim details on the edge of the carapace, ornamental, or maybe anatomical sarcasm.
💧 Where the droplets came from
The bugs didn’t spark a story right away.
I got stuck. So, I scrolled through my photo library.
That’s when I found the water droplets.
Which reminded me of a scarlet lily beetle I once saw try to stand on one, and promptly fall into it.
Absolutely fascinating to watch. Infuriating. Little shits did destroy my lilies mind.
That’s when it clicked:
The droplets weren’t scenery. They were memory. They were alive.
Some reflect.
Some whisper.
Some trap a version of you and grow it somewhere mossy.
“They do not reflect you. They interpret you.”
— Bark-scratch proverb, author unknown (possibly moss)
So, I gave them their own classification.
Their own lore.
Their own intent.
🧠 Dewdrops: The Garden’s Memory Organs
Common Names: Droplets, reflecting skins, memory-beads, tear-veins, the liquid latch
Ecological Function: Memory storage. Prophecy relay. Transportation system.
Divine Function: Curation. Echo chambers. Narrative selection filters.
Scientific Classification: [REDACTED BY ROOT DECREE]
📜 Field Fragment #001 – On Memory Droplets
They are not rain.
They are not yours.Some remember what you forgot.
Some remember what never happened.
Some remember you, in places you haven’t yet been.
👁 The bugs became gods, obviously
Once I lay the groundwork, I start story hoarding.
This is where the bugs became gods… because why not.
They weren’t meant to be gods. Not at first.
They’re very basic bugs, as in, they’re everywhere. Common as muck.
But I wanted to know more, so I did some research.
And that’s what kicked it off. The ideas started crawling in.
The god bit? Honestly, it makes more sense than half the stuff out there.
How we see gods now is painfully limited. No one’s crafting powerful beings with unique powers, engaging in epic journeys, facing unfathomable challenges, and ultimately overcoming conflicts. No actual personalities, no myth, no real stakes.
The old stuff had conflict. Creation. Destruction. Grief. Jealousy. Love. War.
Ancient deities are gone.
Replaced by bland, copy-paste algorithm seeking insignificants with moodboards. [To put it nicely.]
The grandeur of gods has gone.
So, why not these, hardly noticeable little creatures?
They eat. They fight. They stink. They procreate.
Their feeding habits can cause significant crop damage, honestly, if they got carried away, why couldn’t they wipe out global agriculture. Pestilence and famine via stink bug.
And yet, they’re also helpful.
They eat other pests. Friend and foe.
They’re misunderstood. Messy. Local troublemakers.
Weird little creatures bickering in puddles and rewriting reality by accident.
Which means they’re already provide far more complex and interesting stories than most of the algorithm-approved deities floating round online.
They’ve got more story, more presence, and more personality than most people’s curated, heart-button-filtered and farmed lives.
So yes. Actual IRL gods, they are.
🌿 And then the mythology began to bloom:
The garden isn’t a setting. It’s a memory engine.
The gods aren’t creators. They’re editors.
The droplets aren’t rain. They’re mouths.
The pigeon? We’ll get to the pigeon.