Catching Flies In . . . (ahem, uh, am I allowed to say this?)

I went outside to take down the clothes drying on the line and came upon two common houseflies, caught, ahem . . . in flagrante, on my husband’s T-shirt.

Is it weird that I didn’t want to interrupt them? I felt it would be rude to shoo them away. I mean, I was witnessing the miracle of a species’ highest calling in existence. Those two had waited their whole lives for this moment. I wasn’t going to spoil it for them.

I couldn’t tell if they were enjoying themselves. Or was it merely a business transaction? Did he buy her dinner first? Did they discuss dreams and aspirations? Did he tenderly, slowly brush the antenna back from her eyes so he could gaze into her soul? Did he compare her wings to those of an angel’s? Or did she jump right to, “I want to have lots and lots of kids?” If so, apparently that line works for male flies. He’s thinking, “Life-long commitment? Huh. Eh, I can handle that.”

Carpe diem, my brother.

What makes for a mate-worthy mate in the world of flies? Are flies capable of love to some degree? Lust? Are they driven by libidinous desires? Or is it all simply to create a next generation, to ensure the survival of the species?

I have always wondered: what is the lowest form of animal that has fun?

So, this is what goes through my head, as I stumble upon the scene. I feel torn between salacious voyeurism and piously-virginal modesty. I find a middle ground to my liking: I check in on them a few times, but with—of COURSE—the utmost respect for this heaven-sanctioned act of creation. I wish them well and hope that they had a good time. {wink}

(I was surprised at how long it took. Maybe they cuddled after.)

I got to thinking about other times when I have spotted, photographed and—if at all possible—pointed out to my children various other living things in “The Act.” It never fails to bring delight to all. We adults may giggle—we are, after all, dutiful subjects to the previous generations’ worldview.

And, yet, through the blushing cheeks, we remain fascinated. Fascinated at Life. Fascinated at creation. If you’ve seen a baby being born, and you stop to really think about the miracle of life, it’s mind-blowing.

Nature is inspiring. Even the courtship rituals of the humble Musca domestica.

Go get ‘em, Tiger!