Fay Wray, Poe and Burroughs

It’s hot. We are sweltering through our second week of days that are over 35°C and nights that don’t drop below 19°C. When I tried to get into my car to go home last night, I couldn’t touch anything without burning myself. I wrapped my skirt around the handle so I could open the door then attempted to drive home without touching the steering wheel. No-one can sleep properly and everybody is cranky. So too, it seems, are the insects.
A few nights ago I was sat at the computer, the front door was open to try to get some cooler air into the house, and a big, black beetle landed on the door mat. It waddled up and down making a hissing noise. I’ve never known beetles to be verbal before so I was somewhat intrigued. I explained to it that we were suffering from the heat as much as it was and there was nothing I could do about it. It was obviously unhappy with that and flew into the house and landed on top of the grandfather clock and began hissing again with much greater vehemence. I watched it for a while, waited for it to say “Never more” then decided I probably needed another glass of wine if I was to effectively project literary aspirations onto a beetle. When I returned our visitor was still sitting on top of the clock, still ranting about something and still refusing to say anything Poeish. I turned off all the lights in the house so the only source of light was from the porch and stepped back. The beetle eventually took the hint and flew out the front door. I shut the door after it and I could hear it on the doormat, hissing loudly (rapping?), for several minutes before it flew away.

The next morning I brought the child’s washing in off the clothes line and started to sort through the shirts, skirts and undies. Underneath a pink t-shirt was a large Bogong moth which jumped up and screeched at me. I cupped it in my hands and it wriggled and screeched like a banshee until I threw it out the dog door.

A very industrious spider has spun a web across the middle of the veggie patch. It’s an amazing effort – well over a meter across and very elaborate. Unfortunately I have had to tear it down a few times in order to get to the far end of the patch. Last week I went out to water the veggies and the poor beleaguered spider saw me approaching and ran to the top of its web and stood up on its hind legs and waved its little front legs around. I apologised for destroying its web and suggested that I could probably walk around the corn and not take the easy way on the path and hence through the web. It gesticulated some more then scurried off to its hiding place. I was surprised at how small the spider was, about the size of a 20c coin, and marvelled at how such a small creature could construct such an incredible web. I have kept my word and haven’t vandalised its work since.


Last night the beetle returned. It landed on the doormat and again marched up and down hissing its protests/social commentary. I took the opportunity to photograph it and then poked at it a few times to see if I could upset it more – I could! The hissing increased in pitch and volume and the beetle waddled around furiously flapping its wings. I’m not sure, but I think it said 'I want to see the manager' and something else about Kafka before flying away.


I don’t know why insects are suddenly able to speak, either verbally or in sign – maybe they always could and I just never realised. Maybe I’ve been spending too much time looking for fairies at the bottom of the garden.

I think I’ll reread The Green Brain by Michael Moorcock; sometimes paranoia's just having all the facts.