I turned my head and there she was, staring at me with an intensity that rather shocked me. She came out of nowhere, and it wasn’t until I heard her next to me that I became aware.
I stared back. She didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t break her gaze even for a moment. For half a minute our eyes were locked, for half a minute I tried to understand what was going on in her mind, what had brought her to my home.
Then she flew away, and I still have no idea what was going on in that very, very, very small brain of hers.
I had just about finished the chapter in Dostoevsky, the aptly named The Idiot if you are curious. There was buzzing. I thought it was a bee, or a yellow jacket, for it is getting to be that season. When I turned, it was she, hovering not a foot and a half from my head… staring at me.
She stared at me for a good long while, and I don’t know why. Last I checked there wasn’t anything very flowery about me.
She flew away, but she came back. They always come back. This time not to stare, rather to land on my coffee cup. There she sat for ten minutes or so, her back to me, before making her final decision and leaving me forever.
I thought she was a bee, albeit a curious bee. It wasn’t until later that I learned her name. An American Hover fly.
This was my day. Sitting outside, reading Dostoevsky for the most part, interspersed with a wee bit of writing and determining who exactly was placed on the Cathedral chair of Rome. The birds were busy all around, and the sun was wonderfully warm, with an accompanying delightful cool mountain breeze that encouraged warmer clothes than first expected.
I felt a little lightheaded all day… but a good lightheaded, a free lightheaded, an “everything is doing okay” lightheaded. Something feels ‘different’ today, and it’s a good ‘different’. Not just my mood, there’s something in the air, only I don’t know what. So, in response I sat outside and read The Idiot and finding myself far too identifying with the title character.
It is more than just the title, by the by.
This evening, just before the sun went down, I saw two juncos land in my saplings singing with heavenly fervor. I thought the juncos were gone, I haven’t seen them for weeks. But, two of them have stuck around, the male looking particularly plump. I threw out some seed.
It was a day of sun and of Dostoevsky, in which a rather bold bee mimic found me of particular interest and the juncos surprised me long after I thought they were gone. I prayed for a while on a fallen tree while watching the sun go down behind the mountains to the west.
Of all of this I still can’t get past that hover fly. It’s not every day one finds a new favorite something I guess. And, really, everyone should have their own personal favorite insect.
Curious day, this. And for some reason I suspect I don’t even know half the reasons. Then again, maybe it is that very mystery which leaves me with a smile.