Autumn

November 4, 2007

Moths sit in corners
while the last thick heat sinks to
dusk. They wait to die.


Well, it’s officially autumn. The days are generally warm, but for a crisp cool breeze running through them. The nights are cold. I’ve seen at least a few butterflies dying, but most are still, surprisingly, alive and kicking. Er, flying. I don’t think I’ve emphasized how much butterflies there are. There are hundreds: big brown moths; small brown moths; tiny, colored butterflies; huge black ones that are nearly as big as birds; and medium-sized black ones with orange spots. The last ones are the ones I’ve seen caught in a fence, torn. But more often than not it’s the praying mantis—or are they big green grasshoppers?—I’ve seen dying. They lay on the middle of the street while ants pick at their remains. While riding my bike, I swerve to avoid dead grasshoppers and then I swerve to avoid big flying butterflies.

It’s a jungle out there.