Hidden Roots: Night-Blooming Flower

I am a night-blooming flower in a garden that worships only the sun... petals folded tight against the day, roots drinking from hidden underground streams where no one thinks to look. They say the cold-blooded creatures feel nothing, that the snake knows no warmth, but I have felt my own blood slow in the shade I've made of myself, a necessary winter, a survival. There are birds that migrate in darkness, navigate by stars the daytime world cannot see. I am learning their language, the one spoken in whispers, in the space between what is said and what is meant.