Beetlemania

A Japanese beetle crawls across my floor this morning. She passes the bodies of fellow beetles; moving slowly through dust motes, over a long hair – out of the shadows toward warmer climes.

I suppose these creatures – that look like ladybugs, but most definitely are not – are an alien species imported for god-knows-what purpose and are now, in their tiny, determined way, overtaking us. No doubt gardeners, purists, environmentalists loathe them. For good reasons, I suspect, which I’d rather not know.

Last night I watched one whirling in circles in the air for at least five minutes. The creature never stopped. Was this some sort of mating dance? How could so much energy be contained in that small body? Two others joined him at one point, but only briefly, and the beetle continued its solitary Sufi dance. He dropped, finally, into a dark corner.

Every day I sweep up a pile of the deceased, their hard little shells fading from orange to pale yellow-brown. I don’t mind them, they’re relatively polite beings, as bugs go. They placidly accept being relocated from the rim of my glass or my pillow. They appear not to chew; their droppings are minuscule, if not invisible. They do not buzz or sting or land in my hair.

And, truth be told, I have been known to talk to them.

Not something I do with other insects – ants, roaches, or silverfish – a species I particularly abhor, because of its number of legs and speed. A shudder ripples down my spine at the sight of one of these things emerging from a drain, then swiftly slithering away. The same with roaches, just typing the word repels me.

Apparently my sensibilities are governed by number of legs and speed. Which makes sense since, though they are speedy, I admire snakes, which have no legs at all. I prefer, however, we not commune inside my house.

And it occurs to me I enjoy wooly worms, though they certainly have a goodly number of legs. But they’re slow and soft, and once you figure out which end to look at, it’s quite a tender moment to see them crane their little necks and observe you with bright black eye.

It seems I’ve wandered off the topic of beetles, and as morning advances, the colony is beginning to stir. My floor is once again becoming a highway of beetle pilgrims heading eastward toward the rising sun.

Now where did I leave my broom?