In Hawaii, when I was very young, I would feed the ants. Yeah. True story. Lying on a blanket in the back yard, I would feed them granules of sugar that I grabbed from the aluminum sugar canister.
On my belly, nose down in the grass, I watched them carry off this precious cargo, and then follow a long, marching line of fellow workers who seemed to have disappeared, very purposefully, somewhere in the tall, green grass.
But bees were different–I was afraid of them back then. So I never noticed what they were doing in the garden. Now . . . we work side by side, compadres in our quests.
And then there’s The Fly. I haven’t quite figured out how to make peace with him . . . yet.
And now the bugs . . .
with whom I am unfamiliar– I’ll become acquainted with them . . . another day.
Ahh, now the butterfly . . . Fanciful . . .
Innocent . . .
Noiseless . . .
You know . . . I no longer have to feed the “bugs” because now I have a garden: seeds for the birds, nectar for the butterflies and hummingbirds, peony sap for my friends, the ants. Simpatico.
© Teresita Abad Doebley. All rights reserved 2009-2010.