In the distance the thunder
but the mosquitoes
are swarming.
Life implodes.
From out of the shadows and
swampy places, they ferry
and probe for warm and
tender spots to draw their blood.
They carry on the wind.
They dance against the moon
and invite themselves into
quiet nights and
cabin-ed conversations.
Brighter days of sun
hordes can destroy,
with eagerness
and numbers.
But the thunder rolls
and soon, sweet rain,
the end of torment.
We retrieve what we can
but days can be lost.
New legions take the swarming place.
We suffer. Our world looks different.
Beauty turns to restless discontent,
the eagles now mere objects in the sky.
The August sun a parchment.
The blush of nature,
only dulled and empty.
But the thunder rolls and soon,
sweet rain.
The earth is revived.
The summer is extended.
The life force is back.
And we can reach into the level
of our dreams to whisper
of good news once again.
Did you know than an adult mosquito can fly up to 14 miles in its search for a host? (https://www.orkin.com/other/mosquitoes/mosquito-sounds)
Or that mosquito wings beat 300 to 600 times per second? (https://insectcop.net/why-do-mosquitoes-make-buzzing-noise/)
Such is the wonder of this troublesome pest
I can so happily destroy
with a slap of the hand.
John A. Bragstad is the author of two books: Compass Season and The Poetry of Life BOTH available at Amazon.
Images courtesy of a great site: Pixabay.com