praying mantis

This was supposed to be a story of infinite loneliness, of absolute disconnection and total isolation.  I was quite thoroughly heartbroken sitting in that faded lawn chair facing the immaculate hedge of wild olive.  You left ten minutes ago, your things in brand new cardboard boxes, our dog Zen in the front seat.  I couldn’t take my mind off of us, the ‘us’ you said would make it through this, the ‘us’ that was not an ‘us’ anymore but a ‘you’ and a ‘me’.  What was left?  Only images of the dissolution like ripples in the water before it descends down the drain and dissipates back into the belly of the earth.  Only the paradox of wild olive, trimmed and tamed at four feet. 

This was supposed to be a story of infinite loneliness, that’s what I had my heart set upon.  My pocket sized Moleskine was heavy as an anvil on my thigh when I set to scrawling out some tragic metaphor involving sidewalks and the red seed heads of Yorkshire fog.  It wasn’t until I extended the tail of a wailing ‘y’ on my sixth sappily sorrowful sentence that I noticed someone was watching me.  A taught, geometric little leg carefully placed its foot upon the left page of my notebook.  Following the leg to its owner, I found a baby praying mantis holding my gaze with his little buggy eyes. I could not help but smile at this strange creature reaching out to me.  Perhaps my teeth made him nervous because he raised his little dukes like an insect version of Micki Rooney ready to scrap with this giant.   “I am a benevolent giant” I said.  His light body swayed in the wind a filament of the finest web, but make no mistake, he was not fragile and he made this clear by cocking his head and sizing me up. I turned to grab a separate piece of paper on which I could, without disturbing him, record my new acquaintance.  When I looked back, however, he’d moved to the top of the chair. I never knew praying mantises could move so quickly, perhaps because I had only watched the large adults whose calm, collected appearance provided a perfect veil for their deadly and stealthy ambitions. But he was, as I’ve said, a baby, and I watched him rock on his little insect feet, bob and weave, bob and weave. He stared at me for felt like several minutes.  I must admit part of me feared the capabilities of that flashing, agile, wee body. We examined one another and I could not help but feel a great deal of love and respect and mostly gratitude that he would allow me to admire him for so long. I noted his head; it looked alien (as did mine I’m sure). He had a broad forehead whose heavy crown grew up from the tightest of mouths, pursed like a Puritan. His long antennae were two strands of unruly, wiry hair. His arms were mini guillotines. He was straight backed as a monk with an acute curvature of his bottom like a sassy suped up Mustang while his four rhythmic legs forever rode the latest vibe. He swayed, feeling the wind like a medicine man.  Thinking back on it, he was probably communing with the universal spirit and was quite annoyed at my gawking eyes.  What a beautiful and fine tuned creature, his whole body a lightning rod of divine inspiration. To have had all this grace and elegance at such a young age was enough to make anyone a little envious. But such is the way of the natural with its ethereal glow of certainty in one’s existence.

This was supposed to be a story of infinite loneliness, of absolute loss.  But I was interrupted by a praying mantis. He stood upon the chair cushion and let me admire him.  We both came to an understanding that neither one of us wanted to hurt the other.  It took such a small and strange companion, someone to look me in the eye and see me plainly as I am to remind me that no matter how far out I feel I’ve been cast, there’s always a connection to be found, that one is never, truly, ultimately alone.