That Time of Year

It’s that time of year. Bees and bugs and butterflies. Beetles of various shapes and hues. There were two of them who came to pay me a visit. One appeared on my flower pot outside, the other one was inside, trying to get out. The first was black and really handsome, his long antennas waving as he momentarily rested before moving under the foliage of the flowering plant. You would never have guessed that he was a sacred Egyptian scarab, the kind who rolled dung into balls. The other one was smaller and shimmered in blues and greens. I once had a turquoise scarab beetle, a good luck amulet. It was a gift from a student on his return from Egypt. I eventually passed it on to my granddaughter. Years ago I found a matchbox among my father’s discarded objects – a matchbox full of shimmering iridescent beetle wings. He did have a penchant for things that glittered and collected them, well, just because.

Then there are the beetles that look like shields and climb up the window pane or circle around the electric light. Generally, before they land in my hair, my son captures them in a paper towel to be released out on the balcony. Curious, I check them out on the web and find there are 350,000 species of their kind, with imaginative names such as stag horn, tansy, longhorn, ladybird, minotaur, rhinoceros, rosemary beetle, rose chafer. Not to be overlooked are the stink bugs, a very apt name. Particularly if the wild strawberries outside the door are maturing. So best to sniff the berry before popping it in your mouth to be sure it hasn’t already been visited by a stink bug.

It is early for the bees, since not many flowers are offering their nectar to a variety of winged takers. Butterflies are also fluttering around. Most wonderful are the fireflies who, when it gets dark enough (and warm enough), dart by my window flashing intermittent lights in their attempts to attract a mate. Pure magic, recalling the fairy lights of Tolkien.

Then there are always moths, yellow or white, looking more like cabbage butterflies, and birds including robins, who take advantage of the seeds put out for them on the balcony, wrens, tits, sleek blackbirds parading across the driveway, hopefully a hoopoe bird proud in his orange crest, soft grey wood doves, so much larger and more interesting than plain old pigeons. In the morning, the twitterings and warblings of all these birds are as dense as the budding ash and chestnut leaves among which they hide. Up in the sky there might be swallows swooping in semicircles and gulls in twos and threes winging their way to where someone has dumped their leftovers, and perhaps a hawk or two.

Flies include fruit flies, mosquitoes and no-see-ums (in Italian pappataci, eat and keep quiet). So far, I have been unable to name, or properly see, an occasional unknown visitor, a tiny black spot noted only after it has had its lunch on my arm. Outside dragonflies are welcome, although it is a bit early in the season. Lacewings with six delicate spindly legs and transparent wings that can only be seen when they are not flying like to cruise up and down my window pane. Ants galore (much to the delight of the new black kitten when a few of them straggle across the floor near the dining table) are tenaciously hunted down and eliminated when they decide the car is ideal for a hideout. Although it’s not so much a hideout since they just brazenly take over. I don’t mind them however if they congregate around the aphids on the rosebuds as they milk them for their honeydew. A spider has launched his invisible line from one twig to another. Lizards seek out the sun, lounging immobile, as they blend into the wall (in the herb garden my dog loved to chase them till they escaped from view under a rock). Even a wasp or two shows up. A scorpion might also creep out of hiding. No way I can cozy up to them. Centipedes or other worm-like creatures sometimes slowly perambulate along the floor in the living room, ready to curl up when disturbed.

Yes, it’s that time of year. Nature comes alive after its long winter snooze. Then suddenly it’s summer. There’s a garden, a vegetable garden, and before long there is lettuce and basil. They too harbor other temporary guests and when brought up into the kitchen, the earwigs crawl out, only to be thrown out the window. And, of course, there are the snails and slugs. All part of a never-ending cycle.

We too are part of this cycle, although our seasons hopefully last for more than just one spring, summer and winter.