This makes me want to reach out and gently stroke its fuzzy head. Is it just me… or do other folks, as they age, become more fond and appreciative of insects? (As long as they’re NOT crawling around in the kitchen cannisters, that is. Then it’s war.) Or are we just getting ourselves used to the idea… of worms?
Just remembered a teenage encounter with a big, hairy moth. Riding my bike after dark, unlit country road. Singing at the top of my lungs was a bad idea, because when I whizzed under the first streetlight a moth got stuck halfway down my throat. Had to decide: cough it up in bits, or swallow it? I swallowed. Could have been worse: a bat. But I wouldn’t have lived to tell the tale. (What a way to go.)
This makes me want to reach out and gently stroke its fuzzy head. Is it just me… or do other folks, as they age, become more fond and appreciative of insects? (As long as they’re NOT crawling around in the kitchen cannisters, that is. Then it’s war.) Or are we just getting ourselves used to the idea… of worms?
I love that big eye. Or false eye.
Just remembered a teenage encounter with a big, hairy moth. Riding my bike after dark, unlit country road. Singing at the top of my lungs was a bad idea, because when I whizzed under the first streetlight a moth got stuck halfway down my throat. Had to decide: cough it up in bits, or swallow it? I swallowed. Could have been worse: a bat. But I wouldn’t have lived to tell the tale. (What a way to go.)