fly away

On the porch rail just now I shooed a fly away. Waved my arm with the right hand at the end of it, and away he flew. So that got me thinking. (This is the kind of thinking, God help us, that I do now that I’m three months from my 80th birthday). How does a fly react to a close call with death? If I nearly step on a snake, or if a huge dog jumps out at me, or if I barely miss being hit by a car, I’m startled, my heart beats fast (five years ago the angina would have started sharply and I’d have had to reach for the bottle in my pocket, I don’t even remember to carry the little bottle any more) I sit down and pant until I catch my breath, and think, “Boy, that was close. I’m lucky to be alive. Thank you, God.”

How about that fly who flew away so instantly? Did he fly to the nearest safe spot and pant and his little heart race rapidly and think, boy, I won’t sit there again, I nearly got smushed” — ? At supper tonight does he describe to his dinner companions his narrow escape? No, he doesn’t. He just acts, reacts. What is thinking like for a creature who doesn’t have self-awareness? Or does a housefly think at all, is he just is? I don’t know. Maybe I’ll get a blog post out of it. Maybe not. Maybe I’ll go back to sleep.

W