It is my life. There are those--I know who you are--who will say, "She is strange.". Ok, so maybe I am. But who isn't when you get close enough. You know the saying, "A normal person is someone you don't know yet.".
I saved the life of a fly. And I am delighted.
It was this very fly.
The fact that I was able to get a picture of the object of my largesse is part of the story.
I love my little condo's terrace. It isn't perfect because most of it faces a wall, but that part has space enough for a table and chairs, overlooks the swimming pool and presents a snapshot of the sky that is often incredible, red skies as the sun sets, puffy clouds left over from some nearby storm that hasn't reached us so that our drought will be over, and hummingbirds quenching at the feeder I have put out for them. I sit out there whenever I am home and the weather mostly provides.
The other day I was doing just that, in the late afternoon. I had this computer, a book and a lovely peach nectar concoction to drink. At some point I turned my eyes to that glass and started to put the glass to my lips when I saw a fly had managed to fall into it. My first thought was to run to the kitchen and pour liquid and fly down without further thought. Then it occurred to me, "Maybe he's alive. Maybe I can save him.". The reason is that once I saved a bee in my pool, by swishing him onto the landing and I watched him, for quite a long time, maybe ten minutes, allow the sun to dry him off, and occasionally shaking his wings and using his gossamer legs to do a little wiping of his striped body. After a while he took off.
So, it occurred to me that just maybe this little fly had not been long in the nectar and could revive, if I got to him in time. So, I dripped him onto the ledge of my terrace. Not clear if he still was alive. Then, he slowly dragged himself from the remains of the liquid that poured out with him and his wings began to whip at lightning speed. I could have sworn I felt a drop of something on my face.
And then, painstakingly, he began to wipe his body, with front tentacles and back. I wondered if he was afraid with me looming over him, but he had no choice but that before he could fly, if he could again fly, he would need to be well, unstuck. The peach nectar, although mixed with sparkling water, had to be a bit sticky. I watched for a while, and then thought to grab my camera. I knew this would take time. And so back I came while he was smoothing his bee buns with his back legs, removing whatever detritus was still restraining him.
And then, I could tell as he slowly turned around, a bit like an aircraft carrier, he was about to take off. And so, he did.
I felt, as I had with the bee in the pool, felt incredibly happy. Why? I don't know. Bees, flies, animals, both by human hand and nature, die in droves every day. What's one fly more or less?
It just seemed that once I thought he might be alive in that glass still it would have been cruel simply to let it happen. His life is short enough. If I, with dominion over him by God's gift, could give him the whole of his time, why deny him that because he is not a higher creature?
And so, the fly lives. I hope he is not attracted by another glass, another liquid.
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