Bugs, Beasts and Things
Keith Nightingale
Grunts live close to the earth. They become part of it. They see, feel and sense as others do not. It’s a necessary skill learned from our smaller companions.
In many cases, we all are equal and all the same.
We learned the same lessons.
To see. To judge. To sense. To strike. To retreat. To continue or to renew others.
We are the same.
The Gecko on the ceiling. Watches the light for the stray mosquito. Lurking, luring, ambushing. Beautiful. Curious. And deadly. Just as we. To him it is natural. To us it is training.
We are the same.
The snake. Beautiful, lustrous deep rich green. Absolutely deadly. The curved head tells all. Just like an OD Claymore hidden in the shade. Come too close and nevermore.
Sunlight is our safety.
The snake hugs the shadows to hide his weapons. He waits the unwary and strikes with surprise. We and he conduct the same patrols.
Mosquitos flock and search. The opening revealed. The mass attacks to overwhelm and suck the blood meal.
Both sides course the same-searching for an opening.
Plunging when advantaged.
Bleeding the other to succor the next event. Bowing to the primordial and to the pre-ordained. Some are lost but most prevail.
We are the same.
The leech enjoys the wet under nature’s organic camouflage and the watercourses of the land. Patrols await the chance encounter and extract the price of sighting. We both bleed and feed for each’s purpose.
We are the same.
The scorpion, as does the LRRP, sits in silence, clinging to the dark, to await the vulnerable unknowing. Once aroused, it strikes from above. Hard and quick and with great lethality. He retreats to the dark and we to the clear blue sky.
We are the same.
The ants mass and migrate. An unstoppable force. Overwhelming in energy and violence. Dispensing death and cleansing as they move. Too many to manage. All retreat before them.
The maps and pencils coalesce us as a military pheromone. Joining what we are to what we may become. We emerge as iron ants on a deadly journey. Losing some but gaining all. The momentary appetites suppressed. Back again tomorrow.
We are the same.
The tiger roars on his nightly prowl. The artillery of the dark. Warning. Moving. Sensing. Nothing can resist where the roar and the teeth combine.
We match his style with all we have. We prowl with several introductions and roar upon the victims. Once pounced, all else lies at our feet.
Like he, we celebrate the conquest.
His eyes see all and so have we.
It is the eye of the tiger we all see as he views us in their inner reflections. The eye of the tiger is carried by us all. A consequence of life close to the creatures of the constantly contested land.
The tiger recedes but never fully sleeps. The objects in the eyes remain. The urges wax and wane.
We are all of the creatures of the earth and act the same.