Three nights running I’ve wakened at 2, feet burning, me turning and tossing, knowing what not to do: scratch the itch. I’ve tried to figure when and how I got the chiggers since I wear my insect shield pants inside long socks pulled up to the knees, squeezing the zippers into my shins. Must have been the tall grass at Lake O’Donnell through which I plowed to shoot summer’s first Monarch.
Just the other day, I responded to a friend’s blog comment that I try hard not to demonize one creature while praising another. Time to heed my own lesson. Tonight when fire stirs me I’ll remember that the larvae that set me afire might grow to feed on mosquito eggs.
Small comfort in the dead of night, perhaps, but to everything there is a season.