Friday, February 01, 2008

vignette: creche set-up

Ho! Look at Pam’lhee all a-twitter, furry eyebrows risen full mast on her foreridge, mandibles lickerish sweet and pungent, chartreuse mottled thorax constricting her folded wings, all certain signs of excitement. And why shouldn’t she be? In her forelimbs rests a bundle, still sap-papered and sealed, surface etched with the marks of subdued impatience. She thrills and croons, ecstatic at the promise kept hidden, for the moment, only for the moment, by the bundle’s outer covering. It is a credit to her temperament that she does not rip it open immediately like some dung heap cannibal, rip tear shred as they do with abandon. She would never do such a thing, never, not even if there was no one else to see. No, no, it is a moment, her moment, to savor and savor it she does, having waited for so long, scratching grooves on her favorite honey sac, counting cycles of the sun of the moon and the comings and goings of everyday occurrence, extending the exercise of patience to new lengths. She lifts the small bundle, inhales the scent of hope made real, and a-trembling extends her tongue to lick the surface, just a little, just for a taste, just with the daintiest tip, but knows that the time to see the future is neither here nor now, neither now nor hers.

Ho! Look at Cik’zhee all a-quiver, the tiniest hairs on his shiny abdomen erect as if they were not miniscule, colors speckling chocolate sweetness, almost oblivious to the buzzing of his wings. He, too, is excited, and rightfully so. His stomach growls at the thoughts that circle his horned head. It has been cycles since his last mating and he know, he knows, that within him is lies the potential of life, a life he needs a mate to make whole and true. He watches the movement of his new neighbor with eyes that compound her beauty, so vigorous, her scent so vital, that it takes all of his self-control not to just launch himself at her across the abyss across the air without a care, not to give in to the imperative of life of time and the universe. Instead, he stifles his desire, stiffens his resolve, and scratches once twice thrice on smooth leaf he sits on, eking grooves that bleed sap while he watches and waits for the right time.



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