We met awkwardly on the footpath of lost correspondence. It was rude but important to interrupt that conversation between the passenger pigeon and the dodo. They were as lost as we were but in a manor that they could not afford to offer empathy.
Our interaction was brief and clumsy, the fumbling of heavy clothes being re-arranged to give comfort to an overstuffed belly we were trying to conceal, a water melon coach lined with red velvet and black seed jewels that we clumsily smuggled into a beehive for drones to ingratiate their never satisfied queen. Insect royalty reigns over its kingdom with curious regard to its legacy. The titled beetles of the Serengeti regard certain crops as their birthright. A grasshopper duchess or a centipede earl can invest much energy in the smallest task as they charge arrogantly down the ant trails to Rome, footpaths created by others whom they see having no purpose beyond serving their needs. These arteries teeming with life create a necklace of eternal motion.