myth for common liverwort

From a distance, the world was no bigger than a petal fallen from a giant's rose garden. Small as liverwort and just as diverse. The snake left the rough field of comfrey, from all the activity the soil was broken up, and the comfrey cracked.

So the snake made its way over the land, due northwest, toward the old limestone mountains, now turned inside out.

Tendrils of kudzu covered the town, while the grass men fought back the lianas to plant emmer. With the river running through it, with the passion fruit and the vines of fern. All the birds sang songs of ending there. It was once a swamp, now all there were were states of confusion. On the throne of this rundown place was an Iguleni, alone, and silent. In the south, in the Red Kingdom, the Red Queen, an ember on her throne, overlooked, a dry soil, between the two cities, was a forest, deep and circular, in which sweeties still remembered walking, lost.

Above an artichoke moon, and the sky full of tunnels, below, was a soil as diverse as the insects on this fine earth.

Guttural earth.

There, the skin of the serpent, growing large enough, glowing large enough. to fit Sweetie inside. Its tail whipping back and forth as it made its steady way through the quiet, quiet world.