Here's My Answer

The University entomologist and I finally met.

I said, "You're the fellow I've been emailing!"

He said, "I heard you worked here."

I said, "I am indeed the obsessed woman."

He asked, "Why do you walk Lake Cheston every day?  Do you have a dog?"

"Not I," I responded.  "I walk because I don't want to miss anything."

Had I not walked today, for instance, I would have missed the evidence of someone else's meal: the shell of an abdomen, from which the interior had been mined, and the wings, separated, caught in the grass, dampened by the dew.  No head.  The part eaten first.

The remains of a Widow Skimmer, the chaff of a beautiful flyer grounded and unwinged.  I would not have wanted to miss this memento mori.

Remember me.

How could I forget?  And why would I?