Xōchinepantla never connected to the internet. It learned that the internet was also a kind of soil.
It begins with just enough for you to say flower: moisture, a pale petal, air around a corolla that seems familiar. The recognition doesn't last. The tissue turns vascular, and a sweetness appears in the wrong place.
A mineral secretion runs through the flower and leads down into Mecamatlatl, the net of cords: a web that makes no distinction between root, copper, fiber optics and signal.
Just when the network seems to have left the flower behind, the petal returns. Not intact. It carries something of what it passed through.
We don't know whether it stores information or metabolizes it.
