Eye of the Beholder
The symmetrical arrangement of variously shaped setae
and the ornate sculpturing of their cuticle make many mites
some of the most beautiful and spectacular of all animals.
Scarlet pimpernels nod by a trail on Mount Diablo, flat stars glowing close to earth. Under a rotting log, slime mold also blooms red, a royal garden for the termite queen who'll charm her half-pint king for years, each day laying thousands of eggs to be nurtured by workers and guarded by soldiers, whose soft, slender bodies shine like pearls. Farther up, amid wild hyacinths-- tiny blue vases with fluted necks-- floating on the frozen waves of the Franciscan formation, a black widow spider spins her web. Her legs are long and shapely, her body a marble, polished, black, with a perfect orange-red hourglass on the belly. Complete in herself, she'll eat her mate, savoring his juices. Under yellow wallflowers rising in tall grass, a wolf spider, hairy as a cat's ear, emerges from her nest to scout the earth with four pairs of eyes that glisten when sunlight strikes them. She drags a ball-shaped gray silk sac packed with eggs. Soon spiderlings will cover her back, and she'll chase her prey, then pounce to feed the magnificent dress-- her quivering little ones. Climbing past poison oak and Muir pines, I emanate butyric acid, and to the small creatures of the forest and meadow, I must smell like a pot roast simmering in fine wine. A hungry baby finds me--a nymph of the Western black-legged tick, which digs its toothed pincers deep into my thigh and expands, a balloon filling with crimson liquid, and all the bacteria dance as they multiply in my blood. I am one with them, one with the tick-- my epidermis a fragrant field, flowering over hidden rivers, piquant, delicious. |