You do not see, because I did not find, any bugs this morning. The grasses were trimmed short, as short as the hairs of my Poodle. The bugs left like the fleas, maybe for the moon. Say hi when you see black dots on the moon, but not all of them are visible, for it is a crescent moon these few days.
These are the pictures I took last week. I squatted down like always, waited quietly for them to emerge, one by one, when they began to think that I was just a rock, a rock that would not roll. A rolling rock not only rolls over mosses, it smashes bodies of bugs along the way.
The meadow was as busy as a market place. That was last week. I shall see these bugs again. I am sure! They love the earth where life is colorful. The moon is only yellow all the time, or whitish yellow, orangish yellow and yellowish yellow, that’s all.
I love our earth too. I never plan to migrate.
And I am having acrophobia; what will happen to me at a height of 406,700 km above the earth?