i'm not a fly, not yet a woman
Little Fly,
Thy summer's play
My thoughtless hand
Has brushed away
Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?
-William Blake
In some ways, people are a lot like insects. We all hunger for the same things. Food, shelter, companionship, a place to lay eggs that will turn into maggots. Like people, insects all have their own rhythm to life. I'm mesmerized by flies. Their tiny wings, their green eyes, their constant quest for survival. They almost have a sense of desperation about them. They fly around you and make it difficult to ignore them. They make you wonder what is behind their incessant buzzing. A sense of annoyance comes over you in their presence. The pain that horseflies give you is stunning. Behold the beauty of the fly.
5 comments:
In an attempt to muffle my laughter while reading this delightful piece of poetry (and eating M&M's, 'cause that's what one does at work), I just drooled chocolate on my computer. Not cool, Deborah. Not cool at all.
Effing beautiful, Deborah. Beee-you-ti-ful. :)
Oh, Deborah, you should've seen the "buffalo" flies in Yellowstone that attacked every five seconds and WOULD NOT DIE, even though I tried drowning one for almost a minute. (I had to get a stick and hit it.) They are powerful mfas.
Lia, you, who refused to let Leah attack a fly with Fantastic, attempted to drown a fly and then hit it with a stick. The Fantastic is sounding more and more humane.
Too, too true, Annie. I made an exception to my insect-loving ways when I met the evil buffalo flies. They are maddening and make the tame housefly seem sweet.
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