How strange it must appear to any that witnesses my act of kindness to the lower life forms that are mating bugs.
I see life, not crushable pests in my way. I see those under the whim of biology, not just trying to get in our way in their act of love making. Does my behavior reflect my partial mind's undisclosed wish to not be crushed underfoot myself? Thoughtless comments voiced as gale force winds. Mine, lost against that wind. Ideas born from me snuffed out without being heard; without sprouting legs to run or ride as Paul Revere, broadcasting thoughts meant to be heard. How ironic we are, thinking of ourselves as all powerful; able to just end lives in tuned with the seasons. Ourselves, to a pulsar, a red giant; in comparison to solar flares, are those insects many stomp upon without second thoughts. Minuscule insects whose bloated understanding is diminutive when sized up with those bodies up high. To live is a privilege, life should be cherished between one another and those lesser to ourselves. To space all life is just one crushable bug which easily can be snuffed out without a second thought.