tableau of cicada and spiderBy some accounts, the wet season began on Sunday. Perhaps the best indicator of this is the huge influx of insects we had in my house on Friday night – if not in quantity, then certainly in size.
At about the same time, my roommate came home (bless him), and we searched the house together. “What did it look like again?” “It was about this big [exaggerated size] and he looked like he needed to go back to flight school.” “Oh my God!” my roommate exclaimed. He had just found a gargantuan spider on our floor.
When I take pictures of insects, I should have to worry about whether the red-eye reduction is on or not. Suffice it to say that this spider was large, hairy and had compound eyes that seemed to follow you wherever you went.
I called it a night soon thereafter, retiring to my room with candle in hand, realizing that the UFI had never actually been captured. I put laundry in my closet, folding the tolerably dirty shirts and placed them on a shelf. Then I heard the sound again, the sound of the UFI. And this time it seemed to be in my room.
There are moments in life when you want to disappear so bad that you think it is almost possible – when you think “God, if you’re out there, beam me up, pronto.” This was one of those moments.
I grabbed my flashlight and walked around the bed, not able to see anything with my flashlight through my mosquito net. Then I realized the sound was coming from outside. And there it was. My UFI bouncing off the screen, looking like a giant flying pinecone with beady red eyes. Bounce, bounce, bounce. I realized that there was only one reason he wanted in, and that was because of my lights. I blew-out my candle, turned-off my flashlight and crawled under my mosquito net, comforted by the false hope that nothing could get in there with me.
The UFI turned out to be a cicada; my roommate somehow trapped the one indoors after I went to bed, and we released the spider and cicada together the following morning.
“Should I release them here?” he asked while standing on our front porch. “Maybe a little further,” I said.
At about the same time, my roommate came home (bless him), and we searched the house together. “What did it look like again?” “It was about this big [exaggerated size] and he looked like he needed to go back to flight school.” “Oh my God!” my roommate exclaimed. He had just found a gargantuan spider on our floor.
When I take pictures of insects, I should have to worry about whether the red-eye reduction is on or not. Suffice it to say that this spider was large, hairy and had compound eyes that seemed to follow you wherever you went.
I called it a night soon thereafter, retiring to my room with candle in hand, realizing that the UFI had never actually been captured. I put laundry in my closet, folding the tolerably dirty shirts and placed them on a shelf. Then I heard the sound again, the sound of the UFI. And this time it seemed to be in my room.
There are moments in life when you want to disappear so bad that you think it is almost possible – when you think “God, if you’re out there, beam me up, pronto.” This was one of those moments.
I grabbed my flashlight and walked around the bed, not able to see anything with my flashlight through my mosquito net. Then I realized the sound was coming from outside. And there it was. My UFI bouncing off the screen, looking like a giant flying pinecone with beady red eyes. Bounce, bounce, bounce. I realized that there was only one reason he wanted in, and that was because of my lights. I blew-out my candle, turned-off my flashlight and crawled under my mosquito net, comforted by the false hope that nothing could get in there with me.
The UFI turned out to be a cicada; my roommate somehow trapped the one indoors after I went to bed, and we released the spider and cicada together the following morning.
“Should I release them here?” he asked while standing on our front porch. “Maybe a little further,” I said.
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