Bluebottle

Words On Patience

Yesterday afternoon when the rain had paused; it had been the kind of precipitation with bucket sized drops; the air was warm, washed, smelling of earth (petrichor, that beautiful word) I pushed a window open. A bluebottle that had been sat on the windowsill flew up into the angled glass. I put my hand out to guide it but it dodged. I meant no harm. I wanted it to be able to fly out; it’s a rare fly that finds fulfilment in captivity. To this bluebottle, the glass was sky, over and over. The sound of it, a mini-thud, made me wonder what sort of velocity and whether flies get brain damage. I wanted it to be free of the barrier it refused to comprehend. The window was pushed wide open. Thud-thud.
Was there a natural rhythm that struck, that finally changed the plan that wasn’t working?
I hope for that.
What happened to the insect after that, whatever happened, it was living as it should.
I watched it go, let my frustration go. It is the right thing to do, to open the window, to be the person who keeps opening the window. It is good to sit and breathe. 




Comments

  1. Hooray for the openers of windows. And for sitting and breathing.
    I love the word petrichor nearly as much as I love the scent.

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