Resonant Blum

The Blum Conservatory has been dark for eleven years. Its glasshouses are still full of filament flora — plants of wrought glass and copper — and every one of them is shut, because they open for one thing only: a current tuned exactly right. You have a wheel, a lever, and a handful of brass jaws. Turn the wheel and the filament hunts for a note. Find one of its modes and the line swells into a standing wave. Wherever that wave swings widest, a specimen drinks; wherever it stands still, a specimen goes thirsty and a pane of Blum's glass stays safe. Every plant has a throat — too little and nothing happens, too much and it chars.