Day Two Hundred Eighty One: Damn Flies

I know that winter approaches when all the flies move inside. Inside the car, the bedroom, the kitchen. My natural inclination to let them be and to scoot them outside is tested when they hover about my head and hands. And they are so slow. So easy to swat as they move towards death. I can see a carcass on the floor and it gives me pause for small regret. 


And on the bike path they swarm, in my eyes and mouth and ears. Not everywhere, but in clouds just far enough apart that I forget and smile and sing to myself again. And there when my mouth is open, they appear.  Fresh protein is okay, but they taste like bugs and I imagine them fresh off the poop on the side of the path.


Damn flies.

Friday, October 8: Sharpie on paper, 11x15