Tuesday night was a bad night for predators.
No crocodiles. No ants. Only a few termites.
Hubris lulled me into the Canutean fallacy -- that I really could control the tide of nature.
Hubris lulled me into the Canutean fallacy -- that I really could control the tide of nature.
That, of course, is usually when nature decides to have her way with us. As I walked through the back yard toward the house, I noticed an eight-legged shape on the screen door. And a large shape, at that.
"`Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - prophet still, if spider or devil! -" Thinking for a moment that a bit of Poe might lift the mood.
It didn't. The shape merely perched on the screen -- not even bothering with a "Nevermore." Nor did I expect it.
It didn't. The shape merely perched on the screen -- not even bothering with a "Nevermore." Nor did I expect it.
But a bit of light cleared up any sense of dread.
It was a crab. A land crab.
The season is upon us, and I barely noticed. But it will soon be hard to ignore.
There will be land crabs on and under the car. In the bathroom. In the bedroom. And certainly all over the yard. Their scuttle in the night will soon sound like legions of cockroaches.
They are quite harmless -- even though they put on an air of fortitude with their Jack Dempsey fighting stances.
Unless you step on them with your bare feet. Their cracked shells are sharp and nasty. And when they die, they stink. Fortunately, nature's little sanitary squads clean them up quickly.
Unless you step on them with your bare feet. Their cracked shells are sharp and nasty. And when they die, they stink. Fortunately, nature's little sanitary squads clean them up quickly.
But, here it is. My first robin of the crab summer.
There will be many more happy returns.
