Got bit by the first Black Fly of 2009 the other day. Squashed that sucker flat and did not even think about it until later. No big deal. Once Mud Season winds down, Black Flies and Peepers will quickly follow. Just another rite of Spring here in mostly rural Maine.
This morning early, I was sitting out on stone steps by the garage. The Sun was just peeking up solid over the trees to the East. It was the first truly warm morning since last July. The Black flies were already out in clouds. I sat and pondered this warm beautiful morning with that first fresh cup of coffee cradled between my hands. One of the little bastards landed on my forearm and dug in. Instead of squashing it, I flicked it off my arm. It landed right in that just poured cup full of coffee. I looked down at it as began to frantically backstroke on the surface. Flapping it's little wings and probably pissing black fly piss into my coffee. Little bastards. Dumbest damn insects on the planet in my opinion.
What to do? Do I pour it out and let the little bugger ruin that vitally important first coffee of the day? Do I try to fetch it out of there to save the cup? Then I remembered that in the course of any normal Black Fly Season, I will probably ingest, inhale or otherwise consume pounds and pounds of Black Flies before Mosquitoes move in and take over. So I drank the coffee.
As I dropped the cup from my lips, I looked inside. Hmm. Good. Fly is down the hatch. I imagined what sort of horror filled thoughts might be going through the mind of that fly as it traversed the gravity well to my stomach. I delighted in knowing it would suffer as stomach acids would consume it and break out the nutrients it might have within it to keep my body's energy level up. Then I remembered Black Flies must have no minds. They are so dumb, they cannot even find their way out from behind my glasses. Just keep beating themselves silly against the inside of my lenses until I manage to snag them and crush them out of their misery.
So it goes. The first true sign snow is behind us for a few months. Warm weather is here. Gardens are being tilled, grass is poking up and the the forsythia is brilliantly yellow. In the evening, the peepers begin their nightly song looking for other frogs to mate with. Life moves on it's predictable way and I once again get used to eating bugs.
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