Super FLy-
The day was long and strenuous with an air of uncertainty moving through my mind like the tides wash and withdraw along blank shorelines. My slate was clean, I just moved into a beautiful new home and the boxes of my past were piled high. I wiped sweat from my forehead with a dry hand, staring longingly out my front window with hope toward my brand-new future.
I eagerly waited until the late afternoon streams of sunlight were just right before going out to sit on my favorite patio chair; the light brown one, with the black flecks in the vinyl-coated mesh fabric. My chair was the one thing that felt familiar amidst the chaos. Even though my patio set sat tellingly empty beside me, it was mine. I missed my friends. In having to leave them behind, these unfilled seats were a blatant reminder of our stark separation and my sudden isolation. There were no birds to be seen and the wind was just so, that I could feel its subtle presence, wafting through my hair and along the sides of my temples.
The sun was perfectly bright, warm and balanced. The only eye-sore were the houses being built in front of me and the panoramic view fading by the second. All I could see were workers standing on rooftops beating hammers into wood. There were groups of laborers in bright yellow hard hats gathered by sanctioned port-a-potties, yammering about nonsense like office workers commune by the water cooler. It was somewhat unsettling; trucks hissing by, crackling over pebbles and small stones lying still on the ground and loud saws screaming through tepid air. I was startled by loud thumps of lumber being tossed out of an open window as if they were a disgrace to the entire project.
I sat quietly frustrated, ripping open the skin of an orange over the green table set on a small patch of concrete in the backyard. I wasn’t thrilled about the construction but I was happy in my new home, I loved my light brown patio chair with the black flecks in the mesh but my only wish was for someone to spend the afternoon with.
I threw bits of orange peel onto my napkin as my imagination whisked away from the bustling noise and organized chaos of these evolving new homes. The orange was fully ripe, sweet and filled the air, this moment with little bursts of joy! As I pulled rind from belly, exposing the heart and soul of this orange, I thought, every moment deserves little bursts of joy.
As that thought and the orange gently settled in my stomach, a fly, hopping along the picnic table caught my eye as it landed on my bounty brand napkin and began to partake in the flecks of fruit splayed across it. The napkin was ribbed or maybe just filled with a lot of sunken grooves. Quilted, with a bunch of little baby pockets, perfect for the fly to reach into one of those little spaces with its tongue, that looked like a straw but is actually called a proboscis. Did you know flies taste with their feet? So, when we locked eyes, was he looking at me or was he tasting with his feet? I'll never really know because he's a fly and because I didn't know they could taste with their feet. We’ll assume he was looking at me.
I watched this fly as a mother watches her children explore. I was interested in his culinary discovery, investigating the potential liquid treasures, sunken gold in the grooves of the napkin, some bearing fruit and some just an empty swipe of the proboscis, a mouth full of dry pasty linen. I was thoroughly entertained by this baby fly with bugged out, yellow-green kaleidoscope eyes walking across mounds of orange peels, maybe even hopping or skipping a little too! He seemed pretty happy as he stumbled onto this fruit-juiced utopia! The sheer delicacy of an eaten orange with the juice, its liquid sunshine splattered and splashed all over little trenches and furrows embedded in the napkin along with bits of pulp sacs still swollen with sweetness, all for his delight! This fly was in ecstasy!
He jumped onto tossed aside bits of fiber rinds, slurping straw-like tongue across orange peeled skin, dove his proboscis into puddles of orange juiced coves, searching paths for plump and puckered pulp. This fly had my belly laughing, louder than all of the hammers, saws and trucks yammering nonsense in the distance. I was fascinated by this little guy and I wanted to help him catch the joy! He was a scavenger on a hunt and I had the treasure- I had the pulp.
I took hold of this plump and juicy little morsel of pulp, like I was balancing a raindrop or handling a tear on the tip of my finger. I was careful not to startle my new-found companion or lose his prize. I gently placed the pulp in one of the grooves and waited for this spirited and spunky little fly to find it. I waited and waited, following the fly's pattern and path; over the orange mounds, slurping across fibrous skin, diving into grooves that bore no fruit. My little buddy never found the prize and, feeling disappointed, I knew I had to revise my plan. I mean, if he tastes with his feet, where does he get his sense of smell from?
I was not going to give up. I moved the pulp again and again, over here and over there, until the little juice sac burst in my hand, squirted in my eye and exploded its sweet nectar all over my finger as if the pulp, suddenly found the meaning of joy! I mean, I guess technically we did share a meal together so, there’s that. There wasn't much left inside this little pulp pocket but I was able to salvage some of the sweet and tasty juice. I wiped it on the orange peel and arranged the ripped open skins in a way that fit his explorative pattern, like a traveling flea circus. One by one, jump by jump, slurp by slurp, groove by groove, he landed on the orange peel with the juicy jewels spread on its back. This fly was about to get his prize; I couldn't wait!
Finally, after all of that work, he found his destination. It rubbed it’s little hind-quartered feet together, as if it were devising some maniacal plan, and then set them back down in the juice--boy, his feet must’ve been drooling with anticipation! I could see him slowly begin to draw out his tongue that looked like a straw but is really called a proboscis. Did I already tell you that already? Anyways, in an instant, a tiny gust of wind swooshed across the napkin and bent it just enough to lightly tap nearby his sweet spot and well, with a thousand eyes staring in mortal terror, he saw the napkin flapping toward his fate and zipped off! And just as fast as he’d come into my moment, the fly was gone.
I never really got a chance to say goodbye to Super FLy but as the day closed and the worker’s put their tools down for the night, a light misty haze of loose earth caught a free ride on the wind, seemingly waving goodbye to me in the distance. The silence surrounding me was heavy like a pregnant cloud just before it bursts into rain. It may sound silly but I felt my heart sink in my chest as if all the blood were drained from my heart and it no longer had energy to beat on its own. I was alone, unfulfilled and suddenly, I realized just how lonely I was too. I mean, I know he’s a fly but here I was sitting on my favorite patio chair surrounded by several empty, unfilled seats, staring out and into these vacant, new houses with only an ounce of hope for my future.
My little fly friend never got to catch the joy but he certainly gave me some for a moment and maybe, in his pursuit of what he loves, I hope he found a little too. Maybe that’s the key to catching joy; just pursue it. It’s a collective encounter and if you follow what you love the rest will burst like magic on your little finger.
- J. Circosta
Super FLy! ©8.19.2017
The day was long and strenuous with an air of uncertainty moving through my mind like the tides wash and withdraw along blank shorelines. My slate was clean, I just moved into a beautiful new home and the boxes of my past were piled high. I wiped sweat from my forehead with a dry hand, staring longingly out my front window with hope toward my brand-new future.
I eagerly waited until the late afternoon streams of sunlight were just right before going out to sit on my favorite patio chair; the light brown one, with the black flecks in the vinyl-coated mesh fabric. My chair was the one thing that felt familiar amidst the chaos. Even though my patio set sat tellingly empty beside me, it was mine. I missed my friends. In having to leave them behind, these unfilled seats were a blatant reminder of our stark separation and my sudden isolation. There were no birds to be seen and the wind was just so, that I could feel its subtle presence, wafting through my hair and along the sides of my temples.
The sun was perfectly bright, warm and balanced. The only eye-sore were the houses being built in front of me and the panoramic view fading by the second. All I could see were workers standing on rooftops beating hammers into wood. There were groups of laborers in bright yellow hard hats gathered by sanctioned port-a-potties, yammering about nonsense like office workers commune by the water cooler. It was somewhat unsettling; trucks hissing by, crackling over pebbles and small stones lying still on the ground and loud saws screaming through tepid air. I was startled by loud thumps of lumber being tossed out of an open window as if they were a disgrace to the entire project.
I sat quietly frustrated, ripping open the skin of an orange over the green table set on a small patch of concrete in the backyard. I wasn’t thrilled about the construction but I was happy in my new home, I loved my light brown patio chair with the black flecks in the mesh but my only wish was for someone to spend the afternoon with.
I threw bits of orange peel onto my napkin as my imagination whisked away from the bustling noise and organized chaos of these evolving new homes. The orange was fully ripe, sweet and filled the air, this moment with little bursts of joy! As I pulled rind from belly, exposing the heart and soul of this orange, I thought, every moment deserves little bursts of joy.
As that thought and the orange gently settled in my stomach, a fly, hopping along the picnic table caught my eye as it landed on my bounty brand napkin and began to partake in the flecks of fruit splayed across it. The napkin was ribbed or maybe just filled with a lot of sunken grooves. Quilted, with a bunch of little baby pockets, perfect for the fly to reach into one of those little spaces with its tongue, that looked like a straw but is actually called a proboscis. Did you know flies taste with their feet? So, when we locked eyes, was he looking at me or was he tasting with his feet? I'll never really know because he's a fly and because I didn't know they could taste with their feet. We’ll assume he was looking at me.
I watched this fly as a mother watches her children explore. I was interested in his culinary discovery, investigating the potential liquid treasures, sunken gold in the grooves of the napkin, some bearing fruit and some just an empty swipe of the proboscis, a mouth full of dry pasty linen. I was thoroughly entertained by this baby fly with bugged out, yellow-green kaleidoscope eyes walking across mounds of orange peels, maybe even hopping or skipping a little too! He seemed pretty happy as he stumbled onto this fruit-juiced utopia! The sheer delicacy of an eaten orange with the juice, its liquid sunshine splattered and splashed all over little trenches and furrows embedded in the napkin along with bits of pulp sacs still swollen with sweetness, all for his delight! This fly was in ecstasy!
He jumped onto tossed aside bits of fiber rinds, slurping straw-like tongue across orange peeled skin, dove his proboscis into puddles of orange juiced coves, searching paths for plump and puckered pulp. This fly had my belly laughing, louder than all of the hammers, saws and trucks yammering nonsense in the distance. I was fascinated by this little guy and I wanted to help him catch the joy! He was a scavenger on a hunt and I had the treasure- I had the pulp.
I took hold of this plump and juicy little morsel of pulp, like I was balancing a raindrop or handling a tear on the tip of my finger. I was careful not to startle my new-found companion or lose his prize. I gently placed the pulp in one of the grooves and waited for this spirited and spunky little fly to find it. I waited and waited, following the fly's pattern and path; over the orange mounds, slurping across fibrous skin, diving into grooves that bore no fruit. My little buddy never found the prize and, feeling disappointed, I knew I had to revise my plan. I mean, if he tastes with his feet, where does he get his sense of smell from?
I was not going to give up. I moved the pulp again and again, over here and over there, until the little juice sac burst in my hand, squirted in my eye and exploded its sweet nectar all over my finger as if the pulp, suddenly found the meaning of joy! I mean, I guess technically we did share a meal together so, there’s that. There wasn't much left inside this little pulp pocket but I was able to salvage some of the sweet and tasty juice. I wiped it on the orange peel and arranged the ripped open skins in a way that fit his explorative pattern, like a traveling flea circus. One by one, jump by jump, slurp by slurp, groove by groove, he landed on the orange peel with the juicy jewels spread on its back. This fly was about to get his prize; I couldn't wait!
Finally, after all of that work, he found his destination. It rubbed it’s little hind-quartered feet together, as if it were devising some maniacal plan, and then set them back down in the juice--boy, his feet must’ve been drooling with anticipation! I could see him slowly begin to draw out his tongue that looked like a straw but is really called a proboscis. Did I already tell you that already? Anyways, in an instant, a tiny gust of wind swooshed across the napkin and bent it just enough to lightly tap nearby his sweet spot and well, with a thousand eyes staring in mortal terror, he saw the napkin flapping toward his fate and zipped off! And just as fast as he’d come into my moment, the fly was gone.
I never really got a chance to say goodbye to Super FLy but as the day closed and the worker’s put their tools down for the night, a light misty haze of loose earth caught a free ride on the wind, seemingly waving goodbye to me in the distance. The silence surrounding me was heavy like a pregnant cloud just before it bursts into rain. It may sound silly but I felt my heart sink in my chest as if all the blood were drained from my heart and it no longer had energy to beat on its own. I was alone, unfulfilled and suddenly, I realized just how lonely I was too. I mean, I know he’s a fly but here I was sitting on my favorite patio chair surrounded by several empty, unfilled seats, staring out and into these vacant, new houses with only an ounce of hope for my future.
My little fly friend never got to catch the joy but he certainly gave me some for a moment and maybe, in his pursuit of what he loves, I hope he found a little too. Maybe that’s the key to catching joy; just pursue it. It’s a collective encounter and if you follow what you love the rest will burst like magic on your little finger.
- J. Circosta
Super FLy! ©8.19.2017
