Smooshed

Normally, I don’t pay much attention to squished bugs found on the street. Sometimes, I might see a flattened cockroach. I assume during its midnight raid of the dumpster put out for collection, the garbage truck got the better of the bug. The sight makes disgust crawl through me, but at the same time I hide my elation. Where natural selection doesn’t seem able to take care of the cockroach, Goodyear might.

Occasionally, I’ll see a millipede coiled tightly in the grip of death. The crunchy little thing attracts the industrious ant. A tiny workers busily march in a chaotic line to the tradegy to carry away lunch, dinner and winter stock. On the side of the road, life partners with death. Nature stays in constant motion, spinning its cycle of existence. If any of this happens in the kitchen, it is really disgusting, and everybody dies, no exception.

This morning I returned from my usual stroll across the street to retrieve a newspaper. The outline of a smooshed bug caught my eye. There on the gray asphalt was the familiar body of a praying mantis.

How many of these large insects are around here? If they came in the bucket load like cockroaches, ants and locust they would be equally repulsive, regardless of their contribution to the eradication of other insects. Have a few of these crawling around the bedroom at night, and suddenly they take on a whole new personality. With images of its eerie shadow cast upon the wall, the night stalker sucks the life out of the new born and drops pebbles in your ears.

I flinched. I wondered if it was the same one I photographed.