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2012/03/14 / tocovava

thinking about that mosquito

She might have been onto something, not just on my wrist, sucking blood.  She was the one adapting to the changed environment.  There was no wall calendar for the mosquito, the natural clock ticked.  The weather was wet and cool, then it got warm.  Perfect mosquito-raising weather.  (Bread too, for that matter.)  Nothing said to her, March 11 is too soon, usually, for mosquitos.  Stay in bed, keep your eyes shut.  Without so much as a thought, I’m projecting, the mosquito cracked into being and went about doing what mosquitos have been doing forever.  Looking for nectar.  

What was the nectar doing?

I have not made a significant adjustment to halt the destruction of what for so long have been normal seasons. It’s not all my fault, but I have my mosquito-biten hand in it.  As quick evidence see below and there I am clawing at my lawn with that rake.  Why rake?   Why not leave the leaves be?  Let them do what they have been doing since the first leaf fell:  Degrading into food.  

Maybe the string of March days reading 70 degrees is not evidence of global warming.  Last year this time there was snow on the ground–mostly plowed into dingy, hard-as-steel piles trying to glint way off in parking lots–nevertheless it was a proper wintertime with record measures of snow and cold.  This year none of that.  Just weird extremes.  For the really unlucky it is a tornado in late February.  That’s not normal.  For other people it is a mosquito bite mid-day on a March Sunday.  It still itches.

So maybe it was wrong of me (in short sleeves, windows rolled down in the car) to drive a half-mile to the BP station to get a gallon of gasoline in order to burn those leaves?  Or is that just me, like the mosquito and leaves before me, doing what I have been doing forever.  But my stupid flitting about is ego-driven, unnatural, I’m forcing it, and…damn the wind changed I gotta go tend to those burning leaves.  

Man, I do love the smell of burning leaves, reminds me of childhood.

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