It’s warming up, the days are noticeably longer, the trees are almost all leafed-out now, the peeper (a small frog) outside my cell window has ceased his spring mating calls … yes, summer is definitely on the horizon.
Which means a thousand little bugs will come alive in the house as well as outside. Most of them are harmless and rarely even noticed. Except, that is, the ones that feed on me during the night. I’m asleep, of course, so I only know they’ve been around when itchy welts, small and large, appear in the morning. They’ll be visible for days, crying out for a good scratch long after the perpetrator has disappeared.
I find this rude, frankly. For some reason these creatures prefer the bony places: between my knuckles, on my elbow, in the middle of my forehead, at my ankles.
There’s something just not right about this. Visions of hungry creepy-crawlies, roaming around my body looking for just the right dining location as I lay unconscious is unnerving. It also seems somehow dishonest.
I suppose I shouldn’t impose a moral judgment on beings the size of a freckle, just looking for the next meal. On the other hand, there is a nice, tasty dog laying right there beside my bed …