The little pincher bug immediately started running around on top of the dirt like its hair was on fire. She continued to look for a few seconds thinking it was looking up to see a giant looking back and was trying desperately to find a hollow somewhere in the pile of organic matter to hide but it was then immediately realized that the poor little bug was trying to get its feet away from the scorching heat of what it had been put upon. The heat that was, by then, starting to penetrate her own more well-padded naked pads.
She quickly tried to sweep the little bug to where the dirt was shaded but she feared that it might not have been quickly enough. By the time the bug had started writhing, turning itself over on its back and flailing itself around was when the horror struck her and it was fractions of a second from setting it down — probably better that she hadn’t just walked away.
Oh the horror though at the thought that it had suffered at her hand.
There are so many ways to break a heart.
She was trying to rescue the little bug from her sink full of water afraid it might drown while hunting for a scrap of something to decompose and knowing what great value they are to decomposing things, she took it right out to where kitchen scraps had been covered over with some dirt that had been dug out first. Once it had been swept to the cooler, shaded side of the dirt, she didn’t see it again and could only hope that it had managed to bury itself for soothing.
It was hot enough now that it didn’t seem to matter much if glass and curtains were left open from any windows and there were puffs of air pushing curtains back that had a coolness to them reminiscent of fall. It’s a queer time of year when dirt is far too hot to walk on, can fry a poor unsuspecting little pincher bug in seconds that are split, and a tank of hot water can be run from any hose left under the Sun but yet a sense of refrigerated cooling can be felt in a puff of moving air.
She saved another pincher bug today by taking it out to cooler grounds.
There are so many ways to break a heart, and just as many that can heal one.
Writing Spool 