There’s a cloud of them, forming and re-forming like an angry amoeba. They’re battering the windows like marauding movie zombies.
They. Want. My. Blood.
“But it’s AB,” I yell at them. “My blood is AB-negative. You like it O. O-positive. I read that somewhere.”
It must be my scent. Or the fact I’m now hyperventilating, filling the air with attractive carbon dioxide. It’s the fear factor.
Thanks anyway, all, but you’re not welcome at this table. And I’m not buying what you’re carrying.
I slap at one that hums in my ear. And miss. I flail my arms, flap at my ears.
It’s not that they’re hungry. They have a sweet tooth—or tongue. They more fancy a sweet feast of nectar. No, these are more likely frantic mamas needing my protein for procreation. To nourish their eggs. To save their children. To feed the masses.
Just the other day, I marveled at fireflies and lack of these miniature missiles. It must have been all the rain and the standing water that caused a population explosion.
Why did God make mosquitoes, anyway? I googled that question and got 221,000 hits. If I get more sophisticated with my verbiage and ask why did He create them, I get only 104,000 hits.
I discover there are more than 3000 species of these critters, and if you believe in evolution, they used to be three times larger. So they can sneak in under radar?
An article in the Christian Courier states, “Some ancient pagans believed that mosquitoes are reincarnated humans who were evil in the way they lived. Though there is no truth to the notion of reincarnation, there are some blood-sucking humans who would make good mosquitoes in another world!”
That takes us back to my zombie theory.
I read that a mosquito is a little fly with wings that reveal their blood vessels and that beat about a thousand times a second. Yeah, okay. So God’s pretty creative with his designs.
Fine. But they need to fly away into a frog’s mouth. Or a fish’s. Stay away from bats, though. We’ve had our fill of those.
I scratch my knee and reach for the bottle of hand sanitizer in my glove compartment. The grandgirl’s daycare person taught me about its anti-itch properties. I squirt some on the rising welt, lightly rub some in and let a dribble of the cool liquid run down my leg.
The kamikaze mama makes another dive, her dangly legs trailing behind her. (Did you know that “kamikaze” means “divine wind?”)? “I’m sorry for your children,” I say. And this time I don’t miss. I splat her on my arm. Then I press pedal to metal to escape the mama masses.
God, you said it was all good. Very good. But are you sure the mosquito wasn’t a mistake?
Madeleine L’Engle wrote, “When I am constantly running there is no time for being. When there is no time for being there is no time for listening. I will never understand the silent dying of the green pie-apple tree if I do not slow down and listen…”
For the next several weeks I’m going to intentionally practice slowing down, becoming mindful in place. I don’t have time for it in this season’s life chaos, which is exactly why I needed to enroll Tweetspeak Poetry’s online workshop of that name. I think they designed it with me in mind. This is a reflection from our third writing assignment, to focus on a single thing or being that catches our attention.
In the stillness (and the silliness),
With Laura and Jennifer