Come December, they are slow
to leave, cleave to the screen door
to warm by the woodstove
before the freeze, waiting with housedogs
for an opening—for an afterthought
pausing between the in and the outside,
the delivery of groceries or a child
as wavering door stop. They are slow
about dying, cling to the window glass
while looking smugly at the frost,
or fly haphazardly to bump into flesh,
rudely investigating every orifice
as their last chance and place
to continue the race—with such purpose
as to enrage a well-awakened Saint.
Sitting in my comparatively sterile environment, I envy you just a little bit less. Flies and mosquitoes are 2 of Gods creatures I don’t care to encounter. Swatting is not the exercise the doctor had in mind. 🙂
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They come with the livestock and hang on longer than they should despite all the sprays and ointments the pharmaceuticals prescribe. Part of the territory.
It’s the little flies that get to me. The big ones are all noise… A great capturing of the gradual onset of the cold!
Thanks, Bruce. Got another slow mover this afternoon.