It is good that I am not pöddufælin. It takes a nasty bug indeed to startle me. Spiders I like quite a lot. Insects as a class do not faze me. I admit that centipedes can give me a turn, but they are both fast and poisonous and besides that smell bad. I think one can dislike centipedes rather strongly and still be essentially unopposed to crawling things.
Ants do not bother me at all. How fortunate that is, for a goodly number of them were present to greet me upon my return from winter travels. One should never leave sugar unattended; that much is clear.
In Norwegian and Danish, the ant is maur (compare the second element in the older English pismire), easily confused with a moor: maurer. The Golden Age of Islam has in fact been on my mind of late, and so on that level the long column of tiny black figures recalled to mind Old Cordova, the Alhambra, El Cid. But the current world being what it is, the individuals who had suicidally squeezed between the door and the body of the freezer only to die in heaps inside had more sobering connotations on top of being a distasteful addition to my frozen goods.
But ants are not confusable with aunts. Not by anyone who has kin in Boston, anyway.
Gerast áskrifandi að:
Birta ummæli (Atom)
Engin ummæli:
Skrifa ummæli