Sunday. 1.55am. The countryside. Almost a full moon.
Scene: In my tent, looking at the night sky, talking to the stars. A faint rustling in the grass above my head, almost soft enough to ignore. In the time it takes to find a flashlight, it sounds more like someone crawling over nylon fabric. The light uncovers a black long-bodied creature with large antennae, four shielded body parts covered with black hairs, six legs and a thick protruding stinger [sic: ovipositor] on THE INSIDE OF THE TENT. Later it would be revealed to be a devil’s coach horse beetle, but for now I’m working under the assumption that it is the offspring of a beetle and a scorpion and that the wisest course of action is not to let her discover all that the mummy sleeping bag offers in terms of warm and cosy places to snuggle. Frantically searching for something to catch her with, settling on the travel instructions, and after a bit of to and fro, escorting her out, closing the zip with the resolution to never open it again.
Monday. 1.55pm. The city. A bright sun.
Scene: In my kitchen, looking in the fridge, listening to my stomach. A tiny blue shield bug takes a peek around the corner and greets me with his cheer. With the softest feet, he climbs on my finger and agrees to join me on the balcony for a bit of friendly banter. After some reconnaissance of the flowers pots and the briefest of deliberations, he expresses a preference for the bougainvillea and so I leave him there to ramble among the magenta petals, enjoying the quietness.
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