Dawn comes later each morning now as fall approaches, so I often walk in the dark and love watching the light appear on the eastern horizon.
However, this morning, per usual on a Sunday, my husband and I went out for breakfast at his favorite place, La Hacienda. The gift which appears for me during these dates, aside from one-on-one conversation with the guy I love, is that I allow myself the pleasure of walking home across town, a couple of miles through residential streets lined with trees, through the Railyard District, past the local museum, then across the historic bridge that spans the Llano River.
Here, always, I pause to look out over the vast terrain, squinting against the new sun, trying to see fish in the waters below, searching out the resident heron or the mated ducks. Then satisfied with my natural world “fix,” I stroll onward through downtown, past the old courthouse and local businesses around the square, then across a wholly different neighborhood, the part of our little city that houses our stone cottage.
On this day, savoring the slightly cooler temperatures after a blistering hot summer, I felt fine in my comfortable Keens, lightweight 100% cotton light blue Levi shirt, and black White Stag elastic waist pants. I mention brands because it has taken me years to find clothing and shoes in which I feel at ease.
My lingering moment on the bridge, however, did not bring me peace as it usually does. No matter how I tried to distract myself with the tremendous view, I could not stop thinking about the grasshopper.
Now, it is important to note that grasshoppers here, as elsewhere most likely, are seen as pests that chomp down one’s garden plants and flowers.
They are considered a nuisance, damaging insects that ought to be eradicated. I heard from a friend that another friend had gotten very good at snapping the head off of a grasshopper with one hand. I will not mention what other folks claim to do to free their territories of these seeming “invaders.”
For myself, I mostly acknowledge them with a passing nod and go on my way, unless they fly upward toward my face and startle me into stumbling backwards.
Let’s say I do not see grasshoppers as enemies, but neither am I anxious to be truly friendly with them.
Yesterday, while cutting back drought damaged monk’s cap and autumn sage, I noticed a flicker of movement below my quick-moving clippers. Shocked, I saw the bottom half of a grasshopper, then, quickly, the head with antenna waving and large eyes staring.
Without knowing it, I had cut the insect in two, severing it in one fast snip of sharp blades. Unintentional, yes, but still a travesty to me.
Now, I thought, what do I do?
The top half was still very much alive and I tried not to watch as the creature attempted to crawl away on two front legs.
Ought I crush it, stomp it, drown it, or otherwise put it out of its misery? Or did leave it alone now to find its own way into oblivion?
I did not know what to do except offer fervent apologies and scads of prayers for forgiveness. Such a small and unmeaning act of violence, yet the impact on me was huge.
What was the difference between an accidental death and a purposeful death?
Of what importance was a grasshopper?
What did it mean as I went about my work, more mindful now, but feeling strange and uncertain when other grasshoppers flew up to land on my sleeve or my pants leg or banged against my head?
These were the questions I asked while I stood on the bridge. Would I ever again be even a little bit at ease in their company?
~LJ