Today I saw a June Bug buzzing in the intersection before me. Stopped at the red light, I had time to observe the awkward heaviness of his flight through my dusty windshield. His black wings fluttered desperately and his shiny green body struggled against the air, like a balloon that has lost too much of its helium to stay afloat. I worried that a passing car would smash against him, carry him away against its relentless steel. After a burst of effort, he folded his wings and collapsed to the asphalt. Was he ill? I wondered. Was he injured?
For seconds that seemed like eternity, he crawled amidst the black gravel of the street. I held my breath and watched. With each moment, I was sure a passing car would crush him before my horrified eyes. Crazy thoughts raced through my mind. I wanted to leap from my car and cup him in my hands, carry him away to a green haven of safety. But that was foolish. He was only a bug; I couldn’t put myself into the intersection without danger to me and other drivers. Still I sat frozen and watching, feeling a connection with that small spark of life that pulsed within his hard-shelled frame. I couldn’t bear to watch his end.
When a few seconds later, he pushed out his wings and lifted off into the air, I let my breath out in a whoosh of relief. He flew away into the distance as my light turned green. And I, I felt that perhaps there was some hope and lightness to be found in life after all.
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