Last night,
working late,
the glow of the computer
the only light in the room,
I heard the whine of a tiny
helicoptering something
whiz by my ear, and I
whapped at it
before I thought,
Summer! Bugs!
In winter I find myself
at first grateful for
the lack of flying,
crawly things in the house,
and then, around March,
I’m thrilled to see
a wayward fly trying to
escape through a kitchen
window, crawling, as
they do, upward.
And then I go looking
for a spider who’s outlined
her gossamer apartment
in the corner of another
window, wishing I could
steer the fly to her.
Give me another month,
and I’ll be hunting down
the fly swatter, rather than
opening the back door,
trying to usher them out.
But now I head into
the sun to admire the
bugs, acknowledge their
short-lived existences,
aware that even if I don’t
know why, they occupy
a unique place in the
ecosystem, and I look
for them, going about
their work as if they
know just how little
time they have left.
Güd wrtr 
Your thoughts about bugs buzzing about the world around you make me think of when we first took over my grandparents’ farm after the death of their daughter, my aunt, 10 years ago. I was outside in the raspberry patch pulling weeds among the blooming canes, which had attracted bumblebees, furry big bugs that can be aggressive and pack a sting that will hurt for days. It was sunny and hot, so I had donned my straw cowboy hat for a little protection from cancer-causing rays.
As I was tugging at my green-bladed nefarious interlopers, I kept feeling what I thought were bumblebees buzzing much too close to my ears. I’d duck my head, and swat at the buzz, and keep on working. Finally, annoyed, I waited patiently and connected with one of the close passers, striking squarely with the palm of my hand. However, it felt soft and feathery, not hard and crackly like the chitin exoskeleton that covers an insect.
I looked up, and there, hovering eye to eye with me (and barely larger than one of those bumblebees) was a calliope hummingbird (Selasphorus calliope), a male. Several others of his equally-pugnacious friends were flitting around in the distance. Evidently, my hat looked to them like a giant flower and they were determined to check it out for some nectar.
Now, when I’m out and hear a buzz close to my ear, I just let it go on–and smile.