I have a new daily task. I am a carcass sweeper. Every evening, I sweep hundreds of dead brown beetle carcasses from my walkway and driveway. More accurately, I power blow them with a Black & Decker cordless pavement sweeper. (It doesn’t have quite the power to be called a leaf blower.)
“Hundreds” is no exaggeration. There are literally hundreds of these little buggers, some still squirming, littering the front of my house. As I swept away the carcasses tonight, I said aloud, “Why do they come to me to die?” Then I remember that I installed photosensitive switches on the lights at the end of the garage. They come on automatically at dusk and turn off at dawn. The blinding 25W CFL bulbs are drawing these little insect sex fiends to their nightly orgy. Spent, they die and make my morning walk to the car precarious at least, crunchy at most.
Each evening, I carelessly sweep away the carcasses as my brain slowly desensitizes to death. I guess I have a hard time concerning myself with the killing field that is my yard. After all, these beetles are getting their one night of passion which is more than I’m getting lately.
On a side note: You may have noticed my gratuitous use of the word carcass. For a noun that means “dead animal body,” it is one of the funniest words in English. Not the definition, but the sound. Repeat it ten or twenty times. It stops sounding like a word and starts making you laugh.
Carcass. Night y’all. Carcass.