Some of you may recall that I made claim to collecting dead insects.
Try to look at them with a distanced eye. They are so interestingly, delicately shaped; so beautifully, iridescently colored;
so wonderfully, wondrously different. The inheritors of the earth. Or so we imagine after we have scorched the planet in our headlong pursuit of extinction.
My small collection of insect carcasses is constantly changing. Their delicate little bodies only last so long.
They get dull and start turning to dust and get eaten by things we can’t see. As one crumbles into dust and is discarded another is found and replaces it. My little peeps are on the lookout for me.
They are kept in boxes or placed on altars like relics.
Without them we would have no flowers, no fruit. Without them the detritus of life would not be recycled into the stuff of life.