A couple weekends ago, I cleaned off the porch, and lives were lost.
I had to take down some spider webs and, while I was washing off the furniture, some insects went floating, belly up, in the rinse.
There were mercy killings, and then there was a moment I said, Enough with the slaughter! and made a heroic effort to save one.
It wasn't enough.
In the hours and days following, the insect world convened, planned and carried out a full-on assault in response.
And they lit up my world.
Or at least my legs.
I awoke one morning with two largish, sore bumps on my left knee. The bumps began to itch, the torture waxing and waning according to what pattern I do not know except that they itched when it was most inconvenient to scratch them.
Then, small bumps on my ankles, which as everyone knows is the worst place to itch.
The other day, I tried to sit out my clean porch to write a poem, and a mosquito came up and laughed at me. That's the sound it made. I'm not kidding.
I'm going to get a Citronella candle and lather up with bug spray.
I shall not be defeated.
These spaces are going to be good for poeming once the insect world and I can draw a truce and respect each others' boundaries.