Dear Gypsy Moths from the Invasion in New England in the ’80s,
I’ve been thinking about you a lot.
Super weird – both my husband and his sister brought you up in the space of two days. And both times I thought, “Yes, that is what I was thinking about too, in the very back of my mind.” Why? Is it something in the air right now that is reminding us? Is there a humidity to this summer that recalls the hothouse Massachusetts summers of our youth? Are your descendants lurking, somewhere near, or maybe far, eating your way through the foliage of some place, and it resonates in the fibers of our memories? Because damn, you all were memorable.
I remember eating lunch outside at my Great Aunt G’s house on the Cape and we had all the dishes covered and we ate with our heads over our plates because you all were hovering over our heads, dropping down onto the picnic table from the tall trees overhead, looming, eating, watching – or not. I got the distinct impression you did not notice us at all.
Anyway, we have caterpillars right now that are supposed to turn into butterflies for a beautiful backyard release. But they are so big, and so preternaturally focused on eating and defecating and growing, that my husband is afraid they sent us some of you instead. What do you grow into, my fearful friends? Who are you after your transformation?
I guess it could be that you are on our minds because we are all thinking about the end of days. Plagues and whatnot. You know.
I hope you won’t be offended if I say I hope to stop thinking of you soon.
-e.