Green Algae Quotes

I rose from marsh mud algae, equisetum, willows, sweet green, noisy birds and frogs.

No matter how politely one says it, we owe our existence to the farts of blue-green algae.

When you're living in a pond of algae, you turn green. It doesn't matter how many times someone tells you to stop.

In terms of size, mammals are an anomaly, as the vast majority of the world's existing species are snail-sized or smaller. It's almost as if, regardless of your kingdom, the smaller your size & the earlier your place on the tree of life, the more critical is your niche on Earth: snails & worms create soil, & blue-green algae create oxygen; mammals seem comparatively dispensable, the result of the random path of evolution over a luxurious amount of time.

What is a stromatolite? he asks rhetorically, his eyes gleaming. The word comes from the Greek stroma, a mattress, coupled with the root word for “stone.” Stone mattress: a fossilized cushion, formed by layer upon layer of blue-green algae building up into a mound or dome. It was this very same blue-green algae that created the oxygen they are now breathing. Isn’t that astonishing?

I am torn in two but I will conquer myself. I will dig up the pride. I will take scissors and cut out the beggar. I will take a crowbar and pry out the broken pieces of God in me. Just like a jigsaw puzzle, I will put Him together again with the patience of a chess player. How many pieces? It feels like thousands, God dressed up like a whore in a slime of green algae. God dressed up like an old man staggering out of His shoes. God dressed up like a child, all naked, even without skin, soft as an avocado when you peel it. And others, others, others. But I will conquer them all and build a whole nation of God in me - but united, build a new soul, dress it with skin and then put on my shirt and sing an anthem, a song of myself.

He saw the kind of beauty yellow flowers have growing over a carpet of dead leaves. The beauty of cracks forming a mosaic in a dry riverbed, of emerald-green algae at the base of a seawall, of a broken shard from a blue bottle. The beauty of a window smudged with tiny prints. The beauty of wild weeds.

When his mind turned to look back at the memories of a life gone off the track, everything appeared murky, like looking through a stagnant pond, covered completely with green algae, black beneath with the overabundance of bacteria and rot that made it incapable of supporting any other life besides. Through the murk he saw love, love that wasn't cultivated, love that was left to wither and die on the vine in his vain attempt to find happiness. Happiness that he didn't even know he might have had in his hands, had he done his part. He saw missed opportunities, roads not taken, chances that asked too much of him. And his life, like a beautiful room that slowly emptied of all furnishings until it came down to only himself and the worn soiled carpet beneath him, the walls darkening to make the hell he thought would be his happiness - the hell that was his life.

With the single, notable exception of the meerkats, there was not the least foreign matter on the island, organic or inorganic. It was nothing but shining green algae and shining green trees.

Blue-green algae, or cyanobacteria, were the first photosynthesizers. They breathed in carbon dioxide and breathed out oxygen. Oxygen is a volatile gas; it causes iron to rust (oxidation) and wood to burn (vigorous oxidation). When cyanobacteria first appeared, the oxygen they breathed out was toxic to nearly all other forms of life. The resulting extinction is called the oxygen catastrophe. After the cyanobacteria pumped Earth’s atmosphere and water full of toxic oxygen, creatures evolved that took advantage of the gas’s volatile nature to enable new biological processes. We are the descendants of those first oxygen-breathers. Many details of this history remain uncertain; the world of a billion years ago is difficult to reconstruct.

The earth is made of it. Green. Moss, algae, lichen, mould. It's the colour everything was before there were flowers, the colour of the first trees, the trees that didn't have leaves, had needles instead, the trees that grew in the first hiatus between cold and warm -

I am alone. Alone except for the sirens, alone except for the burning, empty city on the edge of a rotting, pollutedriver green with algae, host to rubber-skinned, gibbous-eyed things with mouths large enough to swallow me whole andprotruding stomachs ready to digest me.

...the life of the planet began the long, slow process of modulating and regulating the physical conditions of the planet. The oxygen in today's atmosphere is almost entirely the result of photosynthetic living, which had its start with the appearance of blue-green algae among the microorganisms.

Hey, I notice you look like you're coming down off a meth binge and smell vaguely of algae. Were you perchance dancing with a snakebit Margo Roth Spiegelman a couple of hours ago?

It took a half billion or more years for life to emerge; a billion years later the earliest forms of blue-green algae (which are actually bacteria) and simple fungi were generated. The first sponge-like animals emerged 650 million years ago, land plants about 500 million years ago, the first land animals 400 million years ago. The earliest human ancestors only three million years ago, human beings as we know them now emerged only 35,000 years ago, human “civilization” only four thousand years ago. (Or maybe it’s seven thousand, scientists aren’t sure— they found some old cheese pots recently . . .) We are babies; we’ve just arrived. It would be amusing really, when scientists, with a life span of 80 years, look at the Earth and pronounce it not alive because it does not fit into their preconceptions if it weren’t so dangerous

One day, she told me her favorite color was green. Do you know how much green I see in a day? Enough to remember any other color ain’t her favorite. Green. That’s a whole lifetime with a girl whose face emerges on leaves, tennis courts, the billboard on every nearest passion pit, the emerald fabric of my curtains, hotel salads, on a crumpled Washington, and the two forest eyes of my own that look back at me in the mirror and say, “Diana #1, Diana #2.” Ain’t that a bite. One day, I will lay outside to daydream about her for so long, fungi will grow on my pathetic body, plaguing me with her favorite color. Will she love my algae then?

Doc was collecting marine animals in the Great Tide Pool on the tip of the Peninsula. It is a fabulous place: when the tide is in, a wave-churned basin, creamy with foam, whipped by the combers that roll in from the whistling buoy on the reef. But when the tide goes out the little water world becomes quiet and lovely. The sea is very clear and the bottom becomes fantastic with hurrying, fighting, feeding, breeding animals. Crabs rush from frond to frond of the waving algae. Starfish squat over mussels and limpets, attach their million little suckers and then slowly lift with incredible power until the prey is broken from the rock. And then the starfish stomach comes out and envelops its food. Orange and speckled and fluted nudibranchs slide gracefully over the rocks, their skirts waving like the dresses of Spanish dancers. And black eels poke their heads out of crevices and wait for prey. The snapping shrimps with their trigger claws pop loudly. The lovely, colored world is glassed over. Hermit crabs like frantic children scamper on the bottom sand. And now one, finding an empty snail shell he likes better than his own, creeps out, exposing his soft body to the enemy for a moment, and then pops into the new shell. A wave breaks over the barrier, and churns the glassy water for a moment and mixes bubbles into the pool, and then it clears and is tranquil and lovely and murderous again. Here a crab tears a leg from his brother. The anemones expand like soft and brilliant flowers, inviting any tired and perplexed animal to lie for a moment in their arms, and when some small crab or little tide-pool Johnnie accepts the green and purple invitation, the petals whip in, the stinging cells shoot tiny narcotic needles into the prey and it grows weak and perhaps sleepy while the searing caustic digestive acids melt its body down. Then the creeping murderer, the octopus, steals out, slowly, softly, moving like a gray mist, pretending now to be a bit of weed, now a rock, now a lump of decaying meat while its evil goat eyes watch coldly. It oozes and flows toward a feeding crab, and as it comes close its yellow eyes burn and its body turns rosy with the pulsing color of anticipation and rage. Then suddenly it runs lightly on the tips of its arms, as ferociously as a charging cat. It leaps savagely on the crab, there is a puff of black fluid, and the struggling mass is obscured in the sepia cloud while the octopus murders the crab. On the exposed rocks out of water, the barnacles bubble behind their closed doors and the limpets dry out. And down to the rocks come the black flies to eat anything they can find. The sharp smell of iodine from the algae, and the lime smell of calcareous bodies and the smell of powerful protean, smell of sperm and ova fill the air. On the exposed rocks the starfish emit semen and eggs from between their rays. The smells of life and richness, of death and digestion, of decay and birth, burden the air. And salt spray blows in from the barrier where the ocean waits for its rising-tide strength to permit it back into the Great Tide Pool again. And on the reef the whistling buoy bellows like a sad and patient bull.

toward the small pond that he had seen before. The walls of fire ended there. An instant later the remains of the cottage exploded. He ducked and rolled again from the concussive force, almost pitching into the right side of the wall of fire. He rose and redoubled his efforts, thinking that he would reach the water. Water was a great antidote to fire. But as he neared the edge of the pond, something struck him. No scum. No algae on the surface although the ground around was full of it. What could kill green scum? And why was he being forced to run right toward the one thing that could possibly save him? Robie tossed his gun over the top of the wall of flames, pulled off his jacket, covered his head and hands with it, and threw himself through the wall of flames on the left side.

I’ve lined my throat with the river bottom’s best silt, allowed my fingers to shrivel and be taken for crawfish. I’ve laced my eyelashes with algae. I blink emerald. I blink sea glass green. I am whatever gleams just under the surface. Scoop at my sparkle. I’ll give you nothing but disturbed reflection. Bring your ear to the water and I’ll sing you down into my arms. Let me show you how to make your lungs a home for minnows, how to let them flicker like silver in and out of your mouth like last words, like air.

A normal mother might have said, “Hey, I notice you look like you’re coming down off a meth binge and smell vaguely of algae. Were you perchance dancing with a snakebit Margo Roth Spiegelman a couple hours ago?” But no. They preferred dreams. I showered, put on a T-shirt and a pair of jeans. I was late, but then again, I was always late.

A glowing green traced the movements of our limbs below the gentle surf. I imagined a scaly, bug-eyed eel with razor-sharp teeth had come from the deep to hunt for a late-night meal before realizing it was a luminescent algae emitting a subtle glow with each tread of the water. At one point, we returned to the beach to rest and came across a nest of hatching turtles making their first voyage into the water. We watched the sun gradually peek over the horizon, and I realized in this moment that I had your mother's deepest trust. Miles away from her comfort zone, she was willing to walk with me and explore the depth of a world I had grown to love. I, in turn, would need to trust her to the utmost as I stepped deeper into her world of stand-up comedy.

Battered by shifing currents and a cold, unrelenting wind, we sailed past deserted islands crowded with pines and a ghost tree growing staight out of the water, its gaunt trunk and scrawny branches raised heavenward like an outcast pleading for his life. Now, having reached the north shore, we were doggedly searching for the hidden rivulet that would take us into The Peak. We were trapped in muddy water barbed with grasses and covered with thick green algae, which broke apart in clumps, then, after we'd edged through, resealed, erasing all signs of our passing. The wind had dissipated - strange, as it'd been so turbulent minutes ago out on the lake. Dense trees surrounded us, packed like hordes of stranded prisoners. There wasn't a single bird, not a scuttle through the branches, not a cry - as if everything alive had fled.

I swam in the pool, anyway, for the first half of the summer, telling myself that at least I had it to myself. The water turned green, and the bottom and sides became slippery with dark algae. I pretended the pool really was a pond, deep in the woods, in a special place that only I knew about, and my friends were the turtles and the fish and the dragonflies. I swam at dusk, when the cricket whine was at its highest,

In our personal spaces, where there are no eyes to guide our better nature caressing our intentions, we sometimes gnaw in the agonizing realization that, although we charitably took on the rough task with smiling faces, our condescension has produced our worst nightmare. For a new work has triggered our insecure buttons, birthing the fear that the author may flow past our selfish desires, and find their way into the ocean of our faith, leaving us alone and desperate. And so we must, with the extremest prejudice, bomb their potential future by damming all of our congratulations. Rendering Goodreads a stale pond of green algae and used condoms. But do we not know that this same pond we all must drink from? Instead of filing another dead weight upon our self-deprecation, we should condescend to our own little devils, transforming them into loving companions with our guidance, so they may sprout wings in our charity, by praising this new work loudly to all of our friends and acquaintances. Instead of a dam, we can fashion a fountain of ascension, whose poetic mead, we may all get drunk on. Then, one day, those that we have assisted, we may one day find them returning us the favor by building us a fountain. That's my opinion on the subject anyway. This has been an exercise in poetic articulation. Signing off.

For some reason, I think of Naukeag Lake. Movie night at Naukeag Lake with Ma before it became members-only. We used to sit there on a blanket on the hard sand watching some Gene Wilder vehicle with the other locals. I was maybe six or seven, my sisters not yet on the scene. We both loved that stupid lake. It had terrible circulation and was riddled with nuisance algae even back in the ’70s. Dragonflies buzzed around the duckweed, laying their eggs, their bodies brighter green than beetles, brighter green than June itself. I remember Ma’s delighted face in the projector light. Happiness—rare as it is, fragile as it is, its sightings achieve a kind of private fame. Look, here I am, still talking about it.

In the shady part of the grotto bulged caps of the sewant mushroom, gray as stones in a field. Not far from them grew reachcluster, an antidote to every known toxin and venom. The modest yellow-gray brushes peering from chests deeply sunken into the ground revealed scarix, a root with powerful and universal medicinal qualities. The center of the cave was taken up by aqueous plants. Geralt saw vats full of hornwort and turtle duckweed, and tanks covered in a compact skin of liverwort, fodder for the parasitic giant oyster. Glass reservoirs full of gnarled rhizomes of the hallucinogenic bitip, slender, dark-green cryptocorines and clusters of nematodes. Muddy, silted troughs were breeding grounds for innumerable phycomycetes, algae, molds and swamp lichen.

Bub has the same twenty amino acids as all life on this planet. Why is this important? Well there are about 80 different types of amino acids, and all can create proteins, but nothing on earth uses those extra sixty. All life—plant, animal, bacteria—uses different combinations of those same twenty, and the reason is because we all evolved from one common ancestor. That’s why all living organisms share genes. Everyone in this room, on this planet, shares 99.9 percent of the same DNA. We share 98.4 with chimpanzees, 98.3 with gorillas, all the way on down to blue-green algae.

So far, we have warmed the earth by roughly two degrees Fahrenheit, which in a masterpiece of understatement the New York Times once described as “a large number for the surface of an entire planet.”9 This is humanity’s largest accomplishment, and indeed the largest thing any one species has ever done on our planet, at least since the days two billion years ago when cyanobacteria (blue-green algae) flooded the atmosphere with oxygen, killing off much of the rest of the archaic life on the planet.

Las ostras se abren por completo en luna llena; y cuando el cangrejo ve una, arroja en ella una piedra o alga marina y la ostra no puede volver a cerrarse, así que sirve de alimento al cangrejo. Tal es el destino de quien abre demasiado la boca y se pone de ese modo a merced del oyente.

The thing about Ativahikas is not that they’re giant, or sapient, or weirdly gorgeous, though they are all of these things. When they haven’t been horribly butchered, they look a bit like a Ferian leafy sea-dragon or those motile sea-trees from Desireninex. They’re seaweedy and ragged and layered in fringe like the dress of a medieval queen and their algae turns them into a shifting, iridescent play of brilliant teal, and jade and emerald greens. And the reason people kill them is not for any intrinsic quality of their own-it’s for those algae. Or the metabolic byproducts there of.

Spirulina is a blue-green algae superfood that is an excellent source of vitamins, minerals, and protein. Spirulina also contains essential fatty acids, which are helpful for balancing hormones and blood pressure.

indoor heated pool, there is a beach on the lakefront with lifeguards and diving boards in the summertime. Note: Green Lake has frequent algae blooms when the weather turns warm, which means the lake will be closed to swimmers, so check for informational signs before you go for a dip. See p

Foods to restrict in deficient qi or fire of the spleen-pancreas: excessive raw vegetables, fruit (especially citrus), sprouts, and cereal grasses; cooling foods such as tomato, spinach, chard, tofu, millet, amaranth, seaweeds, wild blue-green micro-algae, and salt; too many very sweet foods, liquids, and dairy products; and vinegar. Care must be taken not to push the liver to a state of excess. Large meals and rich foods are avoided; nuts, seeds, and oils are eaten in small amounts to nullify the Destructive Cycle activity of an excessive liver on the spleen-pancreas. Liver excess is perhaps the major cause of

Even single cells have astonishing regenerative abilities. Acetabularia, the mermaid’s wineglass, is a single-celled green alga about five centimeters long, with three main parts: root-like structures called rhizoids that attach it to a rock, a stem and a cap about a centimeter wide (Figure 5.2). This very large cell has a single nucleus in one of the rhizoids. As the plant grows, its stem lengthens, it forms a series of whorls of hairs that later drop off, and finally forms the cap. If the cap is cut off by snipping the stem in two, after the cut has healed, a new tip grows and the stem forms a series of whorls of hairs and then a new cap, in a similar way to the normal pattern of growth. This can happen over and over again if the cap is cut off repeatedly.2 As discussed in the following chapter, the usual assumption is that genes somehow control or “program” the development of form, as if the nucleus, containing the genes, is a kind of brain controlling the cell. But Acetabularia shows that morphogenesis can take place without genes. If the rhizoid containing the nucleus is cut off, the alga can stay alive for months, and if the cap is cut off, it can regenerate a new one. Even more remarkable, if a piece is cut out of the stem, after the cuts have healed, a new tip grows from the end where the cap used to be and makes a new cap (Figure 5.2).3 Morphogenesis is goal-directed, and moves toward a morphic attractor even in the absence of genes. FIGURE 5.2. Regeneration of the alga Acetabularia mediterranea, an unusually large single-celled organism, up to 5cm tall, containing a green cap at the top of a long stalk, anchored at the base by root-like rhizoids. There is a large nucleus (shown as a black oval) in the basal part of the cell. When the stalk is cut off near the bottom, the basal part of the cell regenerates a new stalk and cap (shown on the right). When a part of the upper stalk is cut out, it grows a new cap and more stalk, even though it contains no nucleus.

Algal populations dropped, fish populations grew. The recovery of Lake Erie was so dramatic that in 1986, Dr. Seuss even agreed to remove its mention from later editions of The Lorax. But Lake Erie is again getting glumped. The immediate culprit is a tiny, single-celled, blue-green algae called Microcystis that forms thick mats that can cover many miles of lake surface.

In the daylight, we were lucky enough to spot a sheep trough not far from where we’d camped. This trough didn’t have a float valve, so it had overflowed and made a bit of a pond around itself. With all the sheep coming and going, the “pond” was more like thick, oozing mud than water. In spite of the obvious challenge of getting past the mud, I was determined to take advantage of a nice tub. As the only woman on the trip, I pulled the whole “ladies first” thing and headed off. I was excited as I hiked over with my toothbrush, soap, and shampoo. But as I arrived I was greeted by the overwhelming smell--a sheep had gotten bogged down in the mud and died some time ago. Its body was partially liquefied and teeming with maggots. Ignoring this little friend would be difficult, but I had no idea when I’d get my next chance to clean up. I picked my way around the mud and balanced precariously on the edge of the concrete slab that the trough rested on. The water was dribbling in slowly from the bore pipe, and three-quarters of the surface of the water was covered in an algae-like slime. After removing a patch of the green goo, I stashed my clothes on a dry corner of the concrete and eased myself in. I tried not to think about the water bugs nibbling on me, and I made a real effort not to stir up the sludge on the bottom of the trough--remnants of dead birds that had drowned. Put it out of your mind, I thought. As I held my breath, I went under. I resolved that I wouldn’t wash my hair again for a week. It was so icky to stick my head clear under! I finished up and let everyone have their turn. I suppose it was better than not bathing at all…perhaps.

In this city of concave algae ponds, my mother begins to plant bonsais, nettle and leaf: silk against the skin.

Below deck is suffocating, smelling of sweaty, spermy, unwashed armpits, unwashed groins, moldy wood, bilge water, and the green smell of algae, all congealed in thick streams. I’ve learned to sleep by breathing out of my mouth. On deck, we escape the bed bugs biting away at our skin, clicking cockroaches hiding in the shadows, and the rats gnawing away at every cask. I look forward to the cold sea air.

The property belonged to our boss and his wife. A pebble-dashed box streaked with green algae, it had a pine paneled kitchen and a low ceiling sitting room with a Rayburn, a brown vinyl sofa, and eye-bending 1970s carpets that did bad things to you when you were drunk.

Lichens are widespread in many deserts. They have no root system, absorbing water vapour from the atmosphere, and are therefore particularly extensive in the world’s coastal foggy deserts. Lichens are a unique group of life forms that consist of two closely related parts, a fungus and a partner that can produce food from sunlight. This partner is usually either an alga, or occasionally a blue-green bacterium known as ‘cyanobacteria’. Algal cells are protected by surrounding fungus which takes nutrition from the algae. When cyanobacteria are involved, nitrogen fixation is an additional benefit.

The cyanobacteria, a group of photosynthetic bacteria tinted blue-green by chlorophyll and other pigments, harvest sunlight and fix CO2 much like eukaryotic algae and land plants. However, when hydrogen sulfide (H2S, well known for its “rotten egg” smell) is present, many cyanobacteria use this gas rather than water to supply the electrons needed for photosynthesis. Sulfur and sulfate are formed as by-products, but oxygen is not.

And there, seated at the heart of all that sumptuousness and leaning forward in his chair behind the great desk, was a figure that looked like nothing so much as a dapper but exceedingly despondent frog. The very shape of his head seemed as if it had been altered by a powerful vertical vice, resulting in a symmetrical ovoid with a horizontal polar axis. His complexion was not so much sallow as lightly green. His mouth was unnaturally wide, with thick, tautly stretched lips the color and texture of earthworms. What ears he had were small and circular and somewhat recessed. His nose was broad and rather flat, as if it had been spread on his face unevenly by a butter knife, and had what looked more like nares than full nostrils. The sparse, slick tendrils of his hair were of some murkily nondescript hue and clung unguinously to his scalp. The dense convex lenses of his wire-rimmed spectacles made it seem as if his greenish-gray eyes were peering out at the world from the bottom of a shallow pond, through a thin layer of algae. If he had a jawline, it was not immediately evident where he kept it. His hunched, narrow, rounded shoulders, moreover, amplified the amphibian quality of his appearance. He was, however, dressed in the height of fashion: a high collar and pearl-colored cravat, a waistcoat of forest-green velvet, and a formal coat of lighter, lettuce-green damask with lapels of cream-white satin with pink borders.

And if I’d been a good boy that day, I’d get to eat Chlorella for dessert. Chlorella is condensed algae from Japan that looks like green hard candy pieces, about the size of Smarties, and I guess it could be considered candy, if you think beefing up broccoli on nutritional steroids, compressing it, and sneaking it into movie theaters is a good idea.

saw her see it, but it stayed perfectly still, without a flicker of movement or muscle tension, as though it was not afraid of her at all. It was shaped like a human, she thought, but it held itself in a weird spiderlike way, knees and elbows bent at painful sharp angles. Its arms were as thin as her antennae, and when it crouched, as it did now, its matted hair and beard brushed the ground. Its skin was as pale as the eyeless fish but less natural, as though all the blood had been sucked out of it. And its eyes — they seemed to be covered in a green film like algae, but they also seemed to be staring straight into Luna’s soul.

Las ostras se abren por completo en luna llena; y cuando el cangrejo ve una, arroja en ella una piedra o alga marina y la ostra no puede volver a cerrarse, así que sirve de alimento al cangrejo. Tal es el destino de quien abre demasiado la boca y se pone de ese modo a merced del oyente. LEONARDO DA VINCI, 1452-1519

Sometimes in life, it is necessary to be a colourful flower that can be noticed even from far away; sometimes you have to be a green frog in green algae that cannot be noticed even up close! You need to know when to shine and when to hide!

Algae, such as chlorella and spirulina (typically found in supplements but also in prepackaged green juices), are excluded on the Paleo Approach because of their ability to stimulate the immune system.

Wheat is blond in the Steppe, yellow in the Prairie. Algae in the labs is many different brownish greens.

Thankfully, a number of foods may help maintain your immunity to keep the germs at bay. First up is chlorella, a single-celled, freshwater, green algae typically sold as a powder or compressed into tablets

The survivors of the catastrophe, the same on es who had been living in Macondo before it had been struck by the banana company hurricane, were sitting in the middle of the street enjoying their first sunshine. They still had the green of the algae on their skin and the musty smell of a corner that had been stamped on them by the rain, but in their hearts they seemed happy to have recovered the town in which they had been born.

While Mrs. Hisa steeped fresh fava beans in sugar syrup, Stephen dry-fried baby chartreuse peppers. I made a salad of crunchy green algae and meaty bonito fish cubes tossed with a bracing blend of soy and ginger juice. Mrs. Hisa created a tiny tumble of Japanese fiddleheads mixed with soy, rice vinegar, and salted baby fish. For the horse mackerel sushi, Stephen skinned and boned several large sardine-like fillets and cut them into thick slices along the bias. I made the vinegared rice and then we all made the nigiri sushi. After forming the rice into triangles, we topped each one with a slice of bamboo grass, as if folding a flag. Last, we made the wanmori, the heart of the tenshin. In the center of a black lacquer bowl we placed a succulent chunk of salmon trout and skinned kabocha pumpkin, both of which we had braised in an aromatic blend of dashi, sake, and sweet cooking wine. Then we slipped in two blanched snow peas and surrounded the ingredients with a bit of dashi, which we had seasoned with soy to attain the perfect whiskey color, then lightly salted to round out the flavor. Using our teacher's finished tenshin as a model, we arranged most of the dishes on three polished black lacquer rectangles, first lightly spraying them with water to suggest spring rain. Then we actually sat down and ate the meal. To my surprise, the leaf-wrapped sushi, the silky charred peppers, candied fava beans, and slippery algae did taste cool and green.

Give Me Some Iron and I'll Give You an Ice Age

We drove in Helen’s cruiser down a long two-lane road through flooded gum and willow and cypress trees, the sunlight spangling through the canopy on water that was black in the shade or filmed with a skim of algae that resembled green lace. The road dead-ended on a cusp of oil-streaked beach and a shallow saltwater bay that bled into the Gulf of Mexico. The St. Mary Parish sheriff, two deputies, a crime scene investigator, the coroner, and two paramedics were already at the scene. They were standing in a circle with the blank expressions of people who had just discovered that their vocational training and experience were perhaps of no value.

particles became planets, galaxies, clusters, and superclusters. Atoms became blue-green algae, toads, palm trees, and swans. Space became here or there, as time became then or now.

Let’s follow the carbon in that Saskatoon. The leaves of the tree drew carbon dioxide from the atmosphere, which they made into sugar via the brilliant mechanism of photosynthesis. The gift of the atmosphere now resides in the berry. When the Cedar Waxwing gobbles it up, some of that carbon becomes the feathers that paint a yellow band on its tail, which flashes in the afternoon light. When that feather falls to the ground it becomes food for beetles, who become food for a Vole whose death feeds the soil who feeds the Serviceberry seedling just germinating at the edge of the woods. Materials move through ecosystems in a circular economy and are constantly transformed. Abundance is created by recycling, by reciprocity. This recycling proceeds at different paces. Sometimes it is as quick as minutes, like a molecule of phosphorus dancing between water and a spinning cell of virid green alga. That alga takes up the phosphorus into its body, which is eaten by zooplankton a few minutes later, and they excrete the mineral back into the water, where another alga is happy to have it. Other cycles proceed more slowly. Sometimes the minerals get squirreled away in long-term storage, like nitrogen immobilized in a tree trunk for three hundred years, but it always comes back into circulation. The juice that bursts from these berries was rain just last week and is already on its way back to the clouds. These processes are the models for principles of a circular economy, in which there is no such thing as waste, only starting materials. Abundance is fueled by constantly circulating materials, not wasting them.

Scientists call you unicorn of the Arctic because of your tusk...a single twisting rod of ivory that sprouts from your upper left jaw. It began growing when you were a year-old calf. Now, nine years later, you are full grown, and so is your tusk. Thick as a lamppost, taller than a man, it is green with algae and alive with sea lice.

Many people assume the Folk, the courtly fae in particular, will smell like roses, but in truth they smell like mortals, at least on the surface. I suspect it is a part of their glamour, for beneath this is the smell of rainforests and river reeds, moss and algae and leaves decaying into humus. A green smell, not always pleasant, noticeable only when one is very close.

The slug, which lives in watery places all along the Atlantic coast of the United States, spends its early life a brownish color with a few red dots. It has one goal in those early moments: to locate the hairlike strands of the green algae Vaucheria litorea. When it finds them, it punctures the alga’s wall and begins to slurp out its cells as though through a straw, leaving the clear tube of empty algae behind. The algal cells are bright green, owing to the chlorophyll-filled chloroplasts inside them, which are responsible for photosynthesis. Under a microscope the whole exchange looks uncannily like the slug is drinking bubble tea, one bright green boba entering its mouth

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organisms named blue-green algae were not algal at all, but rather were bacterial. By the end of the century, most researchers had accepted this categorical snafu and had begun calling these organisms by their new name: cyanobacteria, in reference to their blue-green, cyan hue.

Flow proceeds from life: it powers life and is powered by life, and here in the river, everything lived. As she sought the echo, the field, she seemed to move downward, ever deeper, not in the physical sense of farther under the water, but deeper than the Shells of the carp and the crayfish, deeper than the murky green aura of the trailing weeds, down and down and down, not below but through. . . Through the moss and the algae, through the protozoans, through the bacteria and the most basic molds themselves, she went farther and farther without finding what she sought. Her consciousness expanded, questing outward, following the dimly sensed links back up— Another level of Flow lived here.

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