The wind shook the trees towering high above the mandala, and made a low roar. Unlike the northerly wind earlier this week, this gust was blowing from the south. The cliff covered the mandala city tightly, and only a few violent whirlwinds slipped over. The change in wind direction has warmed up temperatures. The temperature is only minus two or three degrees, which is warm enough that it is not a problem to sit comfortably in winter clothes for more than an hour. The oppressive cold that was freezing and painful had passed, and the warm air made my body very useful, and the red light of tranquility and satisfaction glowed from my skin.
Flocks of birds that flew by seemed to be reveling as they escaped the cold hand of death. Five species of birds traveled together: five American crested, a pair of Caro, a Carolina wren1, a golden-crowned kinglet, and a red-bellied woodpecker. The flock of birds appears to be tied together by an invisible, elastic rope; whenever a bird falls behind alone or deviates from the line within 10 meters, it quickly returns to the center of the flock. The whole flock of birds flew over the lifeless snow forest, looking like a tumbling ball.
The American crested is the noisiest bird, constantly making a mixed sound. Each Crested erupts into a sharp sett tone, forming an irregular beat. At this beat, they also have some other calls, such as hoarse whistles and short screams. Some birds repeatedly call pee-ta pee-ta. In the bone-chilling cold earlier this week, they didn't have such a performance on their program schedule: this two-tone cry is a courtship song. Although the snow has not yet melted, the birds have turned their attention to spring. It will take them another two or three months to lay their eggs, but the long-term social activities of courtship have already started.
The birds are full of vitality, which is in stark contrast to the plants on the mandala. The gray branches and the bare branches below present a desolate scene. The smell of death emanated abruptly from the snow: the broken branches of the maple tree were partially decayed, and the damaged base of the leafcup stem was exposed to the ground, surrounded by a circle of white snow, revealing the deep pile of rotten leaves below. Winter seems to have proclaimed the total death of all plants on the earth.
Yet life goes on.
The bare shrubs and trees are not as withered as they appear on the surface: each branch and trunk is wrapped around living tissue. Birds fight for food from the tight iron fists of winter and rely on flight to survive the cold. In contrast, plants can endure without having to replenish their supply halfway. The survival of birds is amazing, but it is even more unimaginable that plants have awoken again after a complete slumber. In the human experience, this is simply not a word. Dead things, especially those frozen to death, should not be resurrected.
However, plants can come back from the dead. Their way of survival is the same as that of the sword-devourers: careful preparation, with the utmost care of the sharp blades. Plants are usually able to cope with mild cold. Unlike the chemical reactions that humans rely on to survive, the biochemistry of plants can function in many different temperature conditions and will not stop functioning because of freezing. But once there is frost, the situation is not good. Gradually expanding ice crystals can puncture, tear and damage the delicate internal structure of the cell. In winter, plants must swallow thousands of swords and manage to keep each blade away from the fragile heart.
In the weeks before the frost comes, the plants begin to prepare. They transfer DNA and other subtle structures to the center of the cell and then wrap it up in a protective layer. The cells become fat and large, and the chemical conjugates in these mast cells change their properties so that they can continue to flow in cold temperatures. The membrane around the cell becomes permeable and elastic. The deformed cells are thick and soft, able to dissolve the sharp edge of the ice crystals without any damage.
Preparation for the wintering takes days or even weeks to complete. Out-of-season frosts tend to damage the branches of trees. Under normal climate change, these branches can survive the coldest nights of the year. Native plant species are rarely harmed by frost: natural selection has taught them to grasp the seasonal rhythms of their homeland. Exotic plants do not have any indigenous knowledge and often suffer heavy blows in winter.
Cells not only change their own material structure, but also absorb sugar, which reduces the freezing point, just like sprinkling salt on an icy road surface: sugar only plays a role inside the cell, and the water around the cell does not contain sugar. This asymmetry allows plants to derive their expected gift by resorting to the laws of physics: water freezes to release heat. The condensation of water around the cell can increase the temperature of the cell by several degrees. During the first few frosts of winter, the inside of the sugar-containing cells is protected by the surrounding sugar-free moisture. Farmers use this warming mechanism to spray water on their crops before the night frost arrives, which adds another layer of heat dissipation.
Once the water between the cells solidifies into ice, it no longer emits heat. But the water inside the cell is still liquid. The liquid slowly exudes through the permeable cell membrane. The moisture seeps out and the sugar stays inside. Sugars are macromolecules that cannot pass through cell membranes, and as the temperature drops, the osmotic process gradually drains the water inside the cells. The concentration of sugar inside the cell increases, further reducing the freezing point. When the temperature is extremely low, the cells crumple into syrup-laden spheres, surrounded by countless ice knives, forming a warehouse of life that does not freeze.
Christmas ferns and bryophytes on Mandala face more challenges. They have evergreen leaves and stems, and are self-sufficient on warm winter days. But chlorophyll, which makes them green, becomes disobedient in cold weather. Chlorophyll captures energy from sunlight and then converts it into a stream of electrons. In warm weather, the energy of electrons is rapidly shunted and used to synthesize nutrients within cells. In cold weather, however, the shunting process stops, flooding the cells with overactive electrons that, if left unchecked, destroy the cells. In order to preemptively suppress the riot of electrons, the evergreen plants are ready to overwinter. They store chemicals inside the cell to intercept and neutralize excess electrical energy. As far as we know, these chemicals are vitamins, especially vitamin C and vitamin E. Native Americans also understood this, and they chewed on evergreen plants to stay healthy during the winter.
The frost seeped through all the plants in the mandala, but each plant cell carefully retreated back, building a miniature barrier between the frost and life. The tightening cells bounce back, allowing the plant's twigs, buds, and roots to revive and thrive in the spring, as if winter had never come. However, very few plant species have adopted a very different way of survival. Bao Guoju completed a short 18-month life last fall. Now they withered, completely succumbing to the obscenity of winter. In fact, they have sublimated into a new form, just like ice and snow turning into water vapor. I couldn't see these new forms, but they were all around me. On the mandala, thousands of chrysanthemum seeds buried under the pile of fallen leaves are quietly waiting for the end of winter. Seeds have a thick outer skin and are also dry inside, and in the cold winter months, they are mostly able to escape the invasion of ice and snow.
The desolate sight on the mandala is only an outward appearance. Within this square area, there were hundreds of thousands of plant cells, each wrapped tightly around itself and curled up to be incomparably strong. The quiet gray skin of the plant, like black powder, conceals the hidden energy.
While the American crested and other birds show great vitality in January, they are insignificant compared to the enormous energy stored in the silent plants. When the mandala is awakened in the spring, the energy released from the plants will make the entire forest, including the birds in the forest, move towards the new year.