I feel like a lot of this blog (and my instagram) has been dedicated to my fascination with seasons, because they are embarrassingly new to me. Seriously, every change startles me, and the latest new development is GIANT INSECTS. MASSIVE FREAKING BUGS. Like this beauty, found on my walk to the subway station:
I was too chicken to put my finger out, or any appendage to use as a size reference, but please believe me, it’s a big ol’ bug.
Large groups of insects also make a ton of noise. I did not know that before living here. I’m used to solitary bugs; the spider in the shower, the wasp at the picnic. But here, bugs have taken over my beautiful park.
There are upsides. Yesterday I got to witness some kind of dragonfly migration (do they migrate? I have no idea). I didn’t take a picture of the event, which is fine because my photography skills (or lack thereof) would not have been able to do the scene justice. I did, however, write about it for my writing class, and I’m posting that here! Let me know what you think! Unless you hate it.
Tonight I saw the dragonflies. They floated past the upper stories of the red-brick buildings, blithely unaware of their majesty. They streamed against the recently becalmed sky, against the distant cotton-candy cumulonimbus, alien clouds too enormous for Earth and too roseate for nature. They push against the air, so thick with humidity that it clouds the senses, it cocoons living bodies and lulls them to sleep, the half-death. Air that painted the world into indistinct shapes with blurring edges- it was life in a Monet.
The late summer has created animals more magnificent than their hardy spring cousins. The fliers are are large enough that their features are apparent from the ground- four slim wings, barely existent, attached to armoured emerald bodies, buzzing above, impervious to gravity. The flock formed no patterns, but they traveled together with an understanding that eludes modern humanity, like wild horses on endless plains or shimmering schools of silver herring.
The dragonflies came from the park, emerging from the deciduous trees with a startlingly cacophonous whir of four hundred iridescent wings, creating an insectile symphony composed of one call, a corporeal ululation praising the summer heat.
People stopped to watch them go, faces slack and maws gaping at the sight of creatures that defy physics and noises that we cannot translate. They stare at beasts whose design is infinitely more intricate than their own, whose existence runs parallel to theirs. Creatures they will forever see in their minds eyes, superimposed over surreal confectionery clouds and zinging and singing through the shimmering, sultry air.