Plan for People

A winter fly buzzes behind the venetian blinds, distracting me from my laptop peregrinations. How dare it interrupt my nightly pilgrimages to delicious nowheresvilles? When I turn off the ceiling light, it finds my screen. And then I feel the pathos of the creature. It crawls slowly over the words and images, our weak glow. Ersatz sunlight. The fly is slow and bedraggled. Why was it born in winter? Oh right. It was like spring for a week or so. The planet is dying and confusing everyone with the false warmth that the dying feel and share. The cat comes over and puts his nose against the fly. He declines to eat it. I scoop it up in a plastic cup for watering plants but where to take it? Summer ahimsa would mean releasing it to the starlight. It’s barreling towards zero outside. I take it to a room on the third floor where I will not go for days. I turn on the ceiling light and dump it on a chair’s pillow. I think it will find the bulb’s sun above. It will be a good death. I won’t need to hear the ronronron of those sad wings. Saying the same thing over and over. I feel smugly virtuous. I see that many things in nature are fractals and that this is a test run for people and also the same plan people will have for me.