Snails in the garden are ubiquitous.
Sometimes, at night, you hear more than stones crunching when you walk from the terrace to the gate.
I’ve been known to step on a snail or two, sadly crushing its beautiful shell. But, let it be known, in rare cases like this, I always provide the thus homeless snail with empty, like-sized homes in order for it to upgrade, and to have a choice, albeit coerced, in doing so.
Flies in the house are also prevalent; large ones, small ones, black ones, green ones, they buzz throughout.
I remember when I was a child. My mother was making crepes in the kitchen. She was wearing her homemade tie-skirt; it was long. it touched her toes. Clearly, I recall studying the flies that had landed in front of me, sucking up baguette crumbs and “cleaning”, as only a little fly can, the surface of the two hundred-year old heavy wood table.
Today, the flies seem bigger, more pronounced in their buzzing, their sucking. Their propensity to be everywhere at the same time is intriguing.
This one on the window is quite large, a wingspan of over 2 centimeters.
Dead flowers can be pretty. They can also be omnipresent in this area. When the sun is unrelenting in its glory, when rain showers are few and far between, dead flowers cover the ground thick as a rug.
My father and I have difficulty getting along most of the time. These roses, in particular, he cut and presented to me after one of our most recent, most intense screaming matches. I think they are maintain their soft beauty even as they litter the ground, bound together with a hair tie.