Driving through a weary neighborhood of leaning porches and shattered glass, I was startled to find a preying mantis clinging to my windshield. In the yard I sometimes find the new ones, small and pale as a fingernail. This one was bright green, long as an unsharpened pencil.
I stopped the car in a gutter full of trash. I hoped to coax the creature to an envelope and transfer it to a shrub. When I leaned in with the paper, the insect jumped to the meaty part of the palm of my hand and snapped on with its six legs. It held as I raised my arm and extended it, taking in the preying mantis' architecture.
We walked together to the sidewalk. When I stepped onto the curb, the insect jumped to a utility pole. I felt charmed to have been so close to a living thing so different from me, as if extended for a moment into another realm, a science fiction world of woman-bug. And I felt sad. The creature was far from wherever it had started and was not going back.
Daily Prompt: When you see something that fascinates you, especially something small, jot down some lines. Honor the experience by taking a few moments to reflect.