Mosquitos and Fireflies

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Dusk is such a pretty time of day. It's that period of time that defies day and night and blurs the the lines in a soft palette of grays, when people start to settle down and the night creatures start to stretch their limbs. It's a wonderful time to experience on a summer evening when the air and the sky and the noise all seem to wrap you up in a big warm blanket and all you can do is sigh in contentment and sway lazily on a swing while your mind drifts far above to the waking stars.

Of course, the occasional twilight-struck teenage girl isn't the only inhabitant of this magical time. Sometimes it's the deer seeking the safety of darkness who venture hesitantly out. Maybe it's a raccoon or some other small furry creature. Sometimes its even a big brown hairy bear, but I can credit that one mostly to imagination. And of course, there's always the bugs.

Fireflies and mosquitos. Light and darkness. Joy and hate. Day and night. Fireflies we cherish, paint pictures of, sing songs about. Mosquitos, well, let's say my city has a whole squadron of orange trucks that prowl through the streets spraying the magic liquid that might rid the city of them. But that's all we can hope for.

You see, as pretty as a picture the dusk-laden woods glittering with hundreds of fireflies may be, there'll always be the invisible buzzing predators lurking that will be all too happy to bestow upon you a gift of an itchy red bump in order to feed their unborn offspring. Aren't they sick, mosquitos? Only pregnant mothers need blood. Or really, the unborn fetuses do. So before they're even born millions of tiny mosquitonoids are unleashing upon us poor, defenseless humans a reign of discomforting terror. And no amount of smoke, swatting hands, and chemical-y perfume is gonna change that.

So think about that next time you're about to take that step out the door to spend a few minutes on a swing or a few hours at the side of a fire pit. Think of those nasty little vampiric fetuses out there that are, right now, craving your blood. Think of them and be warned.

And then, keep going outside. Because, you know, unpleasantness is always going to exist, no matter how brightly the sun shines or the birds sing. You can try to ward it off with ill-placed trust in science and magic liquids, and you might even succeed to a point, but no matter how hard you try there's going to be that one obstinate bite that turns your perfect tan into a maze of red and white scratches and peeling skin. And is that little discomfort really worth missing that gray palette and the fire's glow and all those friendly fireflies?

I think not.





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