inspiration
tall grasses sway in the wind,
holding their secrets close
touches. The droppings of this wildlife fertilise the soil and deposit seeds. These seeds take root and, over time, sprout into grasses, shrubs, and eventually even trees. Roots stabilise soil, and certain flora helps trap sediment during floods, gradually building up and expanding the land. Flowing water and plant activity redistribute salts, making island centres more hospitable. Over decades, even centuries, what was once a tiny hill of compacted earth and fungus gardens becomes an island with its own ecology, drawing birds, insects, monkeys, grazers, and browsers — and the predators that follow them. There can be millions of termites in a mound, with the queen laying up to 40,000 eggs per day — the proportion of each caste depending on the needs of the colony. If she dies and can’t be replaced, the colony perishes with her. If predators like ants, aardvarks, or pangolins
attack too consistently, termite numbers diminish beyond repair. If the environment changes too drastically due to flooding or drought, the mound cannot adapt quickly enough. If food supplies are exhausted, the colony must move. Mounds become inactive for any of these reasons, and when they do, they dry out and start to crumble. Holes form in their husk. These holes invite mammals, birds, invertebrates, reptiles, and amphibians, who make their home here, forming abundant pockets of life from the moment they are conceived — micro- communities that can last centuries. One would scarcely imagine that one of the Delta’s smallest and most unassuming inhabitants could make us feel the irrelevance of size. But if they can play such a vital part in the endurance of this ecosystem, so can we.
Right Termite mounds outlast their builders, offering shelter to whatever comes next.
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